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THE 



BIRDS OF SCOTLAND 



Per virides passim ramos sua tecta volucres 
Concelebrant, mulcentque vagis loca sola querelis. 

Buchanan. 



THE 



BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 



WITH 



OTHER POEMS 

/ 

BY JAMES GRAHAME, 

Author of * the Sabbath,^ ^c 



n 



t i 

' f 




PHILADELPHIA : 
PUBLISHED BY S. F. BRADFORD, 

Ko. 4, South Third Street, 

1807. 



PREFACE 



JlN the first of the following poems, I have endeavoured to 
delineate the manners and characters of Birds. Their exter- 
nal appearance I have not attempted to describe, unless some- 
times by very slight and hasty touches. What I have written 
is the result of my own observation. When I consulted books, 
my object was not information so much as correction ; but as 
in these pages I have not often travelled beyond the limits of 
my own knowledge, and as my attention, from my early years, 
lias been insensibly directed to the subject, I may, without 
arrogance, assert, that when I did consult books, I very 
seldom found myself either corrected or informed. 

Considered ^s objects of mere amusement and amenity to 
man, liow interesting are the birds of the air ! How various their 
appearances, their manners, and habits ! How constantly do 
they present themselves to the eye, and to the ear ! While the 
other wild animals are obliged to seek for safety in conceal- 
ment, the wings of Birds are to them a strong tower of defence. 
To that defence are we indebted for' tlie fearlessness with 
which they sit, displaying their beauteous plumes, and war- 
bling their melodious notes. And what were the woods, with- 
out the woodland song, or the field, uncheered by the aerial 
notes of the lark ! 

With the descriptions of Birds, I have interspersed deline- 
ations of the scenes which they frequent ; and, under that 
head, I have hazarded some observations on the present mode 
of laying out grounds. Some opinions which I have shortly. 



PREFACE. 

and perhaps crudely, advanced, are copiously and feelingly 
discussed in a book which every landholder ought to peruse — 

1 mean, Price's " Essay on the Picturesque." 

The Birds of Scotland (a title, the promise of which I am 
sensible is more extensive than the performance) I venture to 
lay before the Public, not as, by any means, a complete work- 
I offer it not as a treatise, but an essay. It is defective, I am 
aware, in the general plan, as well as in the different parts. 
Neither do I give it as a scientific performance : I have studied 
not so much to convey knowledge, as to please the imagina- 
tion, and warm the heart. 

Some of the months in The Rural Calendar appeared in a 
newspaper (the Kelso Mail) about nine or ten years ago. I 
have since made several additions and corrections ; but I lay 
the poem before the Public, rather as a faithful sketch, than 
as a full or finished delineation of the progress of the year. 



CONTENTS. 

Page 

The Birds of Scotland, Part I 9 

-Part II 35 

Part III 41 

Notes to the Birds of Scotland, * . . . . 51 

The Rural Calendar, 83 

To a Readbreast, that flew in at my window, 100 

Epitaph on a Blackbird, killed by a Hawk, 101 

To England, on the Slave-trade, 101 

The Thanksgiving oif Cape Trafalgar, 103 



THE 



BIRDS OF SCOTLAND 



PART FIRST. 



The woodland song, the various vocal quires, 

That harmonize fair Scotia's streamy vales ; 

Their habitations, and their little joys j 

The winged dwellers on the leas, and moors. 

And mountain cliffs ; the woods, the streams, themselves. 

The sweetly rural, and the savage scene, — ^T tW -A^^^^'tJ^v 

Haunts of the plumy tribes, — be these my theme ! 

Come, Fancy, hover high as eagle's wing : 'S 
Bend thy keen eye o'er Scotland's hills and dales ^^'^-'">-^-- 
Float o'er her farthest isles ; glance o'er the main j 
Or, in this briery dale, flit with the wren. 
From twig to twig ; or, on the grassy ridge. 
Low nestle with the lark. Thou, simple bird. 
Of all the vocal quire, dwell'st in a home 
The humblest ; yet thy morning song ascends 
Nearest to heaven> — sweet emblem of his song,* 
Who sung thee wakening by the daisy's side ! 

With earliest spring, while yet the wheaten blade 
Scarce shoots above the new-fallen shower of snow. 
The skylark's note, in short excursion, warbles ; 



Burns. 

B 



\\\ 



10 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 

Yes ! even amid the day-obscuring" fall, 

I've marked his wing winnow^ing- the feathery flakes, 

In widely-circling" horizontal flig'ht. 

But, when the season genial smiles, he towers 

In loftier poise, with sweeter fuller pipe, 

Chearing- the ploughman at his furrow end, — 

The while he clears the share, or, listening, leans 

Upon his paddle-stafF, and, with raised hand, 

Shadovv^s his half-shut eyes, striving to scan 

The songster melting' in the flood of light. 

On tree, or bush, no Lark was ever seen : 
The daisied lea he loves, where tufts of grass 
Luxuriant crown the ridge ; there, with his mate. 
He founds their lowly house, of withered bents. 
And coarsest speargrass ; next, the inner work 
With finer and still finer fibres lays. 
Rounding it curious with his speckled breast. 
How strange this untaught art ! it is the gift. 
The gift innate of Him, without whose will 
Not even a sparrow falleth to the ground. 

And now the assiduous dam her red-specked treasure 
From day to day increases, till complete 
The wonted number, blythe, beneath her breast, 
She cherishes from morn to eve, — from eve 
To morn shields from the dew, that globuled lies 
Upon her mottled plumes : then with the dawn 
Upsprings her mate, and wakes her with his song. 
His song full well she knows, even when the sun. 
High in his morning course, is hailed at once 
By all the lofty warblers of the sky : 
But most his downward- veering song she loves ; 
Slow the descent at first ; then, by degrees, 
Qiiick, and more quick, till suddenly the note 
Ceases ; and, like an arrow-fledge, he darts. 
And, softly lighting, perches by her side. 

But now no time for hovering welkin high. 
Or downward-gliding strain ; the young have chipped. 
Have burst the brittle cage, and gaping bills 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 11 

Claim all the labour of the parent pair. v - 

Ah, labour vain ! the herd-boy long" has marked 

His future prize ; the ascent, and glad return. 

Too oft he viewed ; at last, with prying" eyes. 

He found tlie spot, and joyful thought he held 

The full-ripe young already in his hand. 

Or bore them lightly to his broom-roofed bield : 

Even now he sits, amid the rushy mead. 

Half-hid, and warps the skep with willow rind. 

Or round the lid, still adding* coil to coil, 

Then joins the osier hinge : the work complete 

Surveying-, oft he turns, and much admires. 

Complacent with himself -, then hies away 

With plundering intent. Ah, little think 

The harmless family of love, how near 

The robber treads ! he stoops, and parts the grass, 

And looks with eager eye upon his prey. 

Qiiick round and round the parents fluttering wheel, 

Now high, now low, and utter shrill the plaint "^-^ 

Of deep distress. — But soon forgot their wo ! ^^^ 

Not so with man ; year after 3 ear he mourns. 

Year after year the mother weeps her son. 

Torn from her struggling arms by ruffian grasp, 

By robbery legalised. 

Low in a glen, T^^.^'^j. . 
Down which a little stream had furrowed deep, ' 
'Tween meeting birchen boughs, a shelvy channel, 
And brawling mingled with the western tide ; 
Far up that stream, almost beyond the roar 
Of storm-bulged breakers, foaming o'er the rocks 
With furious dash, a lowly dwelling lurked. 
Surrounded by a circlet of the stream. 
Before the wattled door, a greensward plat. 
With daisies gay, pastured a playful lamb ; 
A pebbly path, deep-worn, led up the hill. 
Winding among the trees, by wheel untouched, 
Save when the winter fuel was brought home, — 
One of the poor man's yearly festivals. 



K 



12 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 

On every side it was a sheltered spot. 
So hig-h and suddenly the woody steeps 
Arose. One only way, downward the stream. 
Just o'er the hollow, 'tween the meeting boughs. 
The distant wave was seen, with, now and then, 
The glimpse of passing sail ; but, when the breeze 
Crested the distant wave, this little nook 
Was all so calm, that, on the limberest spray, 
The sweet bird chaunted motionless, the leaves 
At times scarce fluttering. Here dwelt a pair. 
Poor, humble, and content : one son alone, 
Their William, happy lived at home, to bless 
Their downward years ; he, simple youth. 
With boyish fondness, fancied he would love 
A seamen's life, and with the fishers sailed. 
To try their ways, far 'mong the western isles. 
Far as Saint-Kilda's rock-walled shore abrupt. 
O'er which he saw ten thousand pinions wheel 
Confused, dimming the sky. These dreary shores 
Gladly he left ; he had a homeward heart : 
No more his wishes wander to the waves. 
But still he loves to cast a backward look, 
And tell of all he saw, of all he learned ; 
Of pillared StafiTa, lone lona's isle, 
Where Scotland's kings are laid ; of Lewis, Sky, 
And of the mainland mountain-circled lochs ^ 
And he would sing the rowers' timing chaunt. 
And chorus wild. Once on a summer's eve. 
When low the sun behind the liighland hills 
Was almost set, he sung that song, to cheer 
The aged folks : upon the inverted quern 
The father sat ; the mother's spindle hung 
Forgot, and backward twirled the half-spun thread; 
Listening with partial well-pleased look, she gazed 
Upon her son, and inly blessed the Lord, 
That he was safe returned. Sudden a noise 
Bursts rushing through the trees ; a glance of steel 
Dazzles the eye, and fierce the savage band 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 

Glare all around, then single out their prey. 
In vain the mother clasps her darling boy, 
In vain the sire offers their little all : 
William is bound j they follow to the shore. 
Implore, and weep, and pray ; knee-deep they stand, 
And view, in mute despair, the boat recede. 



13 



But let me quit this scene, and bend my way 
Back to the inland vales, and up the heights 
(Erst by the plough usurped) where now the heath. 
Thin scattered up and down, blooming begins 
To re-appear. Stillness, heart-soothing, reigns. 
Save, now and then, the partridge's late call^ 
Featly athwart the ridge she runs, now seen. 
Now in the furrow hid ; then, screaming, springs, 
-Joined by her mate, and to the grass-field flies : 
There, 'neath the blade, rudely she forms 
Her shallow nest, humble as is the lark's. 
But thrice more numerous her freckled store. 
Careful she turns them to her breast, and soft. 
With lightest pressure, sits, scarce to be moved ; 
Yes, she will sit, regardless of the scythe. 
That nearer, and still nearer, sweep by sweep, 
Levels the swath : bold with a mother's fears, 
She, faithful to the last, maintains her post. 
And, with her blood, sprinkles a deeper red 
Upon the falling blossoms of the field ; — 
While others, of her kind, content to haunt 
The upland ferny braes, remote from man. 
Behold a plenteous brood burst from tlie shell, 
And run ; but soon, poor helpless things, return. 
And crowd beneath the fond inviting breast, 
And wings outstretching, quivering with delight. 
They grow apace , but still not far they range, 
Till on their pinions plumes begin to shoot ; 
Then, by the wary parents led, they dare 
To skirt the earing crofts : at last, full fledged. 
They try their timorous wings, bending their flight 
Home to their natal spot, and pant amid the ferns. 

b2 



1 



14 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 



Oft by the side of sheep-fold, on the ground 

Bared by the frequent hoof, they love to lie 

And bask. O, I would never tire to look 

On such a scene of peacefulness as this ! 

But, nearer as I draw, with cautious step, 

Curious to mark their ways, at once alarmed. 

They spring; the startled lambs, with bickering haste. 

Flee to their mothers' side, and gaze around: 

Far o'er yon whins the covey wing their way, 

And^ wheeling round the broomy knoll, elude 

My following eye. Fear not, ye harmless race ! 

In me no longer shall ye find a foe. 

Even when each pulse beat high with bounding health. 

Ere yet the stream of life, in sluggish flow, 

Began to flag, and prematurely stop 

With ever-boding pause, even then my heart 

Was never in the sport ^ even then I felt. 

Pleasure from pain was pleasure much alloyed. 

Alas, he comes ! yes, yonder comes your foe. 
With sure determined eye, and in his hand 
The two-fold tube, formed for a double death. 
Full soon his spaniel, ranging far and wide. 
Will lead his footsteps to the very spot, 
The covert thick, in which, falsely secure, 
Ye lurking sit, close huddled, wing to wing : 
Yes, near and nearer still the spaniel draws. 
Retracing oft, and crossing oft his course. 
Till, all at once, scent-struck, with pendent tongue, 
And lifted paw, stiflTened, he panting stands. 
Forward, encouraged by the sportsman's voice. 
He hesitating creeps ; when, flush, the game 
Upsprings, and, from the levelled turning tubes, 
The glance, once and again, bursts through the smoke. 

Nor, 'mid the rigours of the wintry day. 
Does savage man the enfeebled pinion spare ; 
Then not for sport, but bread, with hawk-like eye. 
That needs no setter's aid, the fowler gaunt 
Roams in the snowv fields, and downward looks. 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 15 

Tracing the triple claw, tliat leads him on. 
Oft looking forward, to some thawing* spring. 
Where, 'mid the withered rushes, he discerns 
His destined prey ; sidelong he stooping steps. 
Wary, and, with a never-erring aim. 
Scatters the flock wide -fluttering in the snow ; — 
The purpled snow records the cruel deed. 

With earliest spring, while yet in mountain cleughs 
Linger the frozen wreath, when yeanling lambs. 
Upon the little heath-encircled patch 
Of smoothest sward, totter — the gorcock's call 
Is heard from out the mist, high on IfieTiill ; 
But not till when the tiny heather bud 
Appears are struck the spring-time leagues of love. 
Remote from shepherd's hut, or trampled fold. 
The new joined pair their lowly mansion pitch. 
Perhaps beneath the juniper's rough shoots ; 
Or castled on some plat of tufted heath. 
Surrounded by a narrow sable moat 
Of swampy moss. Within the fabric rude. 
Or e'er the new moon waxes to the full. 
The assiduous dam eight spotted spheroids sees. 
And feels beneath her heart, fluttering with joy. 
Nor long slie sits, |ill, with redoubled joy. 
Around her she beholds an active brood 
Run to and fro, or through her covering wings 
Their downy heads look out^ and much she loves 
To pluck the heather crops, not for herself. 
But for their little bills. Thus, by degrees. 
She teaches them to find the food which God 
Has spread for them amid the desart wild. 
And seeming barrenness. Now they essay 
Their full-plumed wings, and, whirring, spurn the ground^ 
But soon alight, fast by yon moss-grown cairn. 
Round which the berries blae (a beauteous tint 
Of purple, deeper dyed with darkest blue) 
Lurk 'mid the small round leaves. Enjoy the hour. 
While yet ye may, ye unoffending flock ! 



1 



16 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 

For not far distant now the bloody morn. 
When men's protection, selfishly bestowed. 
Shall be withdrawn, and murder roam at will. 

Low in the east, the purple tinge of dawn 
Steals upward o'er the clouds that overhang 
The welkin's verge. Upon the mountain side. 
The weakening covey quit their mother's wing, 
And spread around: lost in the midst. 
They hear her call, and, quick returning, bless 
A mother's eye. Meantime, the sportsman keen 
Comes forth , and, heedless of the winning smile 
Of infant day, pleading on mercy's side, 
Anticipates, with eager joy, the sum 
Of slaughter, that, ere evening hour, he'll boast 
To have achieved ^ — and many a gory wing. 
Ere evening hour, exultingly he sees 
Drop, fluttering, 'mid the heath, — even 'mid the bush. 
Beneath whose blooms the brooding mother sat. 
Till round her she beheld her downy young. 

At last mild twilight veils the insatiate eye. 
And stops the game of death. The frequent shot 
Resounds no more ; Silence again resumes 
Her lonely reign ; save that the mother's call 
Is heard repeated oft, a plaintive note ! 
Mournful she gathers in her brood, dispersed 
By savage sport, and o'er the remnant spreads 
Fondly her wings ; close nestling 'neath her breast. 
They cherished cower amid the purple blooms. 

While thus the heathfowl covey, day by day. 
Is lessened, till, perhaps, one drooping bird 
Survives, — the plover safe her airy scream 
Circling repeats, then to a distance flies. 
And, querulous, still returns, importunate ; 
Yet still escapes, unworthy of an aim. 
Amid the marsh's rushy skirts, her nest 
Is slightly strewn i four eggs, of olive hue. 
Spotted with black, she broods upon : her young, 
Soon as discumbered of the fragile shell, 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 17 

Run Hvely round theit dam. She, if or dog 

Op man intrude upon her bleak domain, 

Skims, clamouring" loud, close at their feet, with wing" 

Stooping-, as if impeded by a wound ; 

Meantime her young, among the rush-roots, lurk 

Secure. Ill-omened bird ! oft in the times 

When monarchs owned no sceptre but the sword. 

Far in the heathy waste, that stretches wide 

From Avendale to Loudon's high-coned hill. 

Thou, hovering o'er the panting fugitive. 

Through dreary moss and moor, hast screaming led 

The keen pursuer's eye : oft hast thou hung. 

Like a death-flag, above the assembled throng. 

Whose lips hymned praise, their right hand at their hilts ; 

Who, in defence of conscience, freedom, law. 

Looked stern, with unaverted eyes, on death. 

In every form of horror. Bird of wo ! 

Even to the tomb thy victims, by thy wing, 

Were haunted ; o'er the bier thy direful cry 

Was heard, while murderous men rushed furious on, 

Profaned the sacred presence of the dead. 

And filled the grave with blood. At last, nor friend. 

Nor father, brother, comrade, dares to join 

The train, that frequent winds adown the heights^ 

By feeble female hands the bier is borne, 

While on some neighbouring cairn the aged sire 

Stands bent, his gray locks waving in the blast. 

But who is she that lingers by the sod. 

When all are gone i 'Tis one who was beloved 

By him who lies below. Ill-omened bird ! 

She never will forget, never forget. 

Thy dismal soughing wing, and doleful cry. 

Amid these woodless wilds, a small round lake 
I've sometimes marked, girt by a spungy sward 
Of lively green, with here and there a flower 
Of deep-tinged purple, firmly stalked, of form 
Pyramidal, — the shores bristling with reeds. 
That midway over wade, and, as they bend. 



18 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 

Disclose the water lily, dancing light 

On waves soft-rippled by the July gale ; 

Hither the long and soft billed snipe resorts, 

By suction nourished; here her bouse she forms ; 

Here warms her fourfold offspring into life. 

Alas, not long her helpless offspring feel 

Her fostering warmth ! though suddenly she mounts. 

Her rapid rise, and vacillating flight 

In vain defend her from the fowler's aim. 

But let me to the vale once more descend. 
And mingle with the woodland quire, and join 
Their various songs, and celebrate with them 
The woods, the rocks, the streams, the bosky bourne. 
The thorny dingle, and the open glade ; 
For 'tis not in their song, nor in their plumes. 
Nor in their wondrous ways, that all their charm 
Consists : no, 'tis the grove, their dwelling place, 
That lends them half their charm, that still is linked. 
By strong association's half-seen chain. 
With their sweet song, wherever it is sung. 
And while this lovely, this congenial theme, 
I slightly touch, O, may I ne'er forget. 
Nature, thy laws ! be this my steady aim, 
To vindicate simplicity ; to drive 
All affectation from the rural scene. 
I There are, who having seen some lordly pile 

Surrounded by a sea of lawn, attempt. 
Within their narrow bounds, to imitate 
The noble folly. Down the double row 
Of venerable elms is hewn. Down crash. 
Upon the grass, the orchard trees, whose sprays, 
Enwreathed with blooms, and waved by gentlest gales. 
Would lightly at the shaded window beat. 
Breaking the morning's slumber with delight. 
Vernal delight. The ancient moss-coped wall. 
Or hedge impenetrable, interspersed 
With holy evergreen, the domicile 
Of many a little wing, is swept away ; 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 19 

While, at respectful distance, rises up 

The red brick-wall, with flues, and chimney tops, 

And many a leafy crucifix adorned. 

Extends the level lawn with dropping trees 

New planted, dead at top, each to a post 

Fast- collared, culprit like. The smooth expanse 

Well cropt, and daily, as the owner's chin. 

Not one irregularity presents. 

Not even one grassy tuft, in wliich a lark 

Might find a home, and cheer the dull domain : 

Around the whole, a line vermicular. 

Of melancholy fir, and leaning larch. 

And shivering poplar, skirting the way side. 

Is thinly drawn. But should the tasteful power. 

Pragmatic, which presides, with pencilling hand. 

And striding compasses, o'er all this change. 

Get in his thrall some hapless stream, that lurks 

Wimpling through hazelly shaw, and broomy glen. 

Instant the axe resounds through all the dale. 

And many a pair, unhoused, hovering lament 

The barbarous devastation : all is smoothed, 

Save here and there a tree ; the hawthorn, brier. 

The hazel bush, the bramble, and the broom. 

The sloe -thorn, Scotia's myrtle, all are gone ; 

And on the well-sloped bank arise trim clumps. 

Some round, and some oblong, of shrubs exotic, 

A wilderness of poisons, precious deemed 

In due proportion to their ugUness. 

What though fair Scotland's valleys rarely vaunt 
The oak majestical, whose aged boughs 
Darken a roodbreath, yet no where is seen. 
More beauteously profuse, wild underwood ; 
No where 'tis seen more beauteously profuse. 
Than on thy tangling banks, well-wooded Esk, 
And Borthwick thine, above that fairy nook. 
Formed by your blending streams. The hawthorn there. 
With moss and lichen grey, dies of old age ; 
No steel profane permitted to intrude : 



20 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 



Up to the topmost branches climbs the rose. 

And mingles with the fading* blooms of May ; 

While round the brier the honeysuckle wreaths 

Entwine, and, with their sweet perfume, embalm 

The dying rose : a never failing blow, 

From spring to fall, expands , the sloethom white, 

As if a flaky shower the leafless sprays 

Had hung ; the hawthorn. May's fair diadem ; 

The whin's rich dye ; the bonny broom ; the rasp 

Erect ; the rose, red, white, and faintest pink ; 

And long extending bramble's flowery shoots. 

The bank ascend, an open height appears. 
Between the double streams that wind below : 
Look round ; behold a prospect wide and fair ;— 
The Lomond hills, with Fife's town-skirted shore. 
The intervening sea, Inchkeith's grey rocks. 
With beacon turret crowned ; Arthur's proud crest. 
And Salisbury abrupt ^ the Pentland range. 
Now peaked, and now, with undulating swell, 
Heaved to the clouds. More near, upon each hand, 
The sloping woods, bulging into the glade. 
Receding then with easy artless curve. 
Behind, a grove of ancient trees surrounds 
The ruins of a blood-cemented house. 
Half prostrate laid, as ev^er ought to lie 
The tyrant's dwelling. There no martin builds 
Her airy nest ; not even the owl alights 
On these unhallowed walls : the murderer's head 
Was sheltered by these walls ; hands blood-imbrued 
Founded these walls, — Mackenzie's purpled hands!- 
Perfidious minion of a sceptred priest ! 
The huge enormity of crime on crime. 
Accumulating high, but ill conceals 
The reptile meanness of thy dastard soul ; 
Whose favourite art was lyiiig with address. 
Whose hollow promise helped the princely hand 
To screw confessions from the tortured lips. 
Base hypocrite ! thy character, portrayed 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 21 

By modern history's too lenient touch. 
Truth loves to blazon, with her real tints. 
To limn, of new, thy half-forgotten name. 
Inscribe with infamy thy time-worn tomb. 
And make the memory hated as the man. 

But better far truth loves to paint yon house 
Of humbler wall, half stone, half turf ^ with roof 
Of mended thatch, the sparrow's warm abode ; 
The wisp-wound chimney, with its rising wreath ; 
The sloping garden, filled with useful herbs. 
Yet not without its rose , the patch of corn 
Upon the brow ; the blooming vetchy ridge. 
But most the aged man, now wandering forth^ 
I love to view ; for 'neath yon homely guise 
Dwell worth, and simple dignity, and sense. 
Politeness natural, that puts to shame 
The world's grimace, and kindness crowning all. 
Why should the falsely great, the glittering names. 
Engross the muse's praise ? My humble voice 
They ne'er engrossed, and never shall: I claim 
The title of the poor man's bard : 1 dare 
To celebrate an unambitious name ^ 
And thine, Kilgour, may yet some few years live. 
When low thy reverend locks mix with the mould. 

Even in a bird, the simplest notes have charms 
For me : I even love the yellow-hammer's song. 
When earliest buds begin to bulge, his note, • 

Simple, reiterated oft, is heard 
On leafless brier, or half-grown hedge-row tree ; 
Nor does he cease his note till autumn's leaves 
Fall fluttering round his golden head so bright. 
Fair plumaged bird ! cursed by the causeless hate 
Of every schoolboy, still l)y me thy lot 
Was pitied ! never did I tear thy nest : 
I loved thee, pretty bird ! for 'twas thy nest 
Which first, unhelped by older eyes, I found. 
The very spot I think I now behold ! 
Forth from my low-roofed home I wandered blythe, 

C 



1 



22 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 

Down to thy side, sweet Cart, where 'cross the streaipfi 

A range of stones, below a shallow ford. 

Stood in the place of the now spanning* arch ; 

Up from that ford a little bank there was. 

With alder-copse and willow overgrown. 

Now worn away by mining winter floods ; 

There, at a bramble root, sunk in the grass. 

The hidden prize, of withered field-straws formed. 

Well lined with many a coil of hair and moss. 

And in it laid five red-veined spheres, I found. 

The Syracusan's voice did not exclaim 

The grand Heurekuy with more rapturous joy, 

Than at that moment fluttered round my heart. 

How simply unassuming is that strain ! 
It is the redbreast's song, the friend of man. 
High is his perch, but humble is his home. 
And well concealed. Sometimes within the sound 
Of heartsome mill-clack, where the spacious door 
White-dusted, tells him, plenty reigns around, — 
Close at the root of brier-bush, that o'erhangs 
The narrow stream, with shealings» bedded white,— 
He fixes his abode, and lives at will. 
Oft near some single cottage, he prefers 
To rear his little home ; there, pert and spruce. 
He shares the refuse of the goodwife's churn^ 
Which kindly on the wall for him she leaves : 
Below h«r linted oft he lights, then in 
He boldly flits, and fluttering loads his bill. 
And to his young the yellow treasure bears. 

Not seldom docs he neighbour the low roof 
Where tiny elves are taught : — a pleasant spot 
It is, well fenced from winter blast, and screened. 
By high o'er-spreading boughs, from summer sun. 
Before the door a sloping green extends 
No farther than the neighbouring cottage-hedge, 
Beneath whose boutree shade a little well 
Is scooped, so limpid, that its guardian trout 
(The wonder of the lesser stooping wights) 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 23 

Is at the bottom seen. — At noontide hour, 

The imprisoned throng, enlarged, blytlisome rush forth 

To sport the happy interval away ; 

While those from distance come, upon the sward. 

At random seated, loose their little stores : 

In midst of them poor Redbreast hops unharmed, 

For they have read, or heard, and wept to hear. 

The story of the Children in the Wood ; 

And many a crumb to Robin they will throw. 

Others there are that love, on shady banks 

Retired^ to pass the summer days: their song, 

Among the birchen boughs, with sweetest fall. 

Is warbled, pausing, then resumed more sweet, 

More sad^ that, to an ear grown fanciful, 

The babes, the wood, the man, rise in review, 

And Robin still repeats the tragic line. 

But should the note of flute, or human voice, 

Sound through the grove, the madrigal at once 

Ceases , the warbler flits from branch to branch, 

And, stooping, sidelong turns his listening head. 

Ye lovers of his song, the greenwood path 
Each morn duly bestrew with a few crumbs : 
His friendship thus ye '11 gain ; till, by degrees. 
Alert, even from your hand^ the offered boon 
He '11 pick, half trustingly. Yes, I have seen 
Him, and his mate, attend, from tree to tree. 
My passing step ; and, from my open hand. 
The morsel pick, timorous, and starting back. 
Returning still, with confidence increased. 

What little bird, with frequent shrillest chirp, 
When honeysuckle flowers succeed the rose, 
The inmost thicket haunt ? — their tawny breasts. 
Spotted with black, bespeak the youngling thrush. 
Though less in size ; it is the redbreast's brood. 
New flown, helpless, with still the downy tufts 
Upon their heads. But soon their full-fledged v, ings. 
Long hesitating, quivering oft, they stretch : 
At last, encouraged by the parent voice. 



24 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 

And leading flight, they reach the nearest bush. 

Or, falUng short, lie panting on the ground ; 

But, reassured, the destined aim attain. 

Nor long this helpless state : each day adds strength. 

Adds wisdom, suited to their little sphere, 

Adds independence, first of heavenly boons ! 

Released from all the duties, all the cares, 
The keen, yet sweet solicitudes, that haunt 
The parent's breast ^ again the Redbreast's song 
Trills from the wood, or from the garden bough. 
Each season in its turn he hails ^ he hails. 
Perched on the naked tree, spring's earliest buds : 
At morn, at chilly eve, when the March sun 
Sinks wuth a wintry tinge, and Hesper sheds 
A frosty light, he ceases not his strain : 
And when staid Autumn walks with rustling tread. 
He mourns the falling leaf. Even when each branch 
Is leafiess, and the harvest morn hath clothed 
The fields in white, he, on the hoar-plumed spray. 
Delights, dear trustful bird ! his future host. 

But farewel lessening day, in summer smile 
Arrayed. Dark winter's frown cOmes like a cloud. 
Whose shadow sweeps a mountain side, and scowls 
O'er all the land. Now warm stack-yards, and barns, 
Busy with bouncing flails, are Robin's haunts. 
Upon the barn's half-door he doubting lights. 
And inward peeps. But truce, sweet social bird ! 
So well I love the strain, when thou'rt my theme. 
That now I almost tread the winter snows. 
While many a vernal song remains unsung. 
When snov/drops die, and the green primrose leave© 
Announce the coming flower, the merle's note, 
MeUifluous, rich, deep-toned, fills all the vale. 
And charms the ravished ear. The hawthorn bush. 
New-budded, is his perch ; there the grey dawn 
He hails ; and there, with parting light, concludes 
His melody. There, when the buds begin 
I'o break, he lays the fibrous roots ; and, see. 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 25 

His jetty breast embrowned ; the rounded clay 
His jetty breast has soiled : but now complete. 
His partner, and his helper in the work, 
Happy assumes posi^ssion of her home j 
While he, upoi^j^ neig'hbouring tree, his lay. 
More richly full,^ melodiously renews. 
When twice sevfen days have run, the moment snatch, 
That she has flitted off her charge, to cool 
Her thirsty bill, dipt in the babbling brook. 
Then silently, on tiptoe raised, look in. 
Admire : five cupless acorns, darkly specl^ed, 
Delight the eye, warm to the cautious touch. 
In seven days more expect the fledgeless young, 
Five gaping bills. With busy wing, and eye 
Quick-darting, all alert, the parent pair 
Gather the sustenance which heaven bestows* 
But music ceases, save at dewy fall 
Of eve, when, nestling o'er her brood, the dam 
Has stilled them all to rest ^ or at the hour 
Of doubtful dawning grey ^ then from his wing 
Her partner turns his yellow bill, and chaunts 
His solitary song of joyous praise. 
From day to day, as blow the hawthorn flowers. 
That canopy, this little home of love. 
The plumage of the younglings shoots and spreads. 
Filling with joy the fond parental eye. 
Alas ! not long the parents' partial eye 
Shall view the fledging wing, ne'er shall they see 
The timorous pinion's first essay at flight. 
The truant schoolboy's eager, bleeding hand. 
Their house, their all, tears from the bending bush j 
A shower of blossoms mourns the ruthless deed ! 
The piercing anguished note, the brushing wing. 
The spoiler heeds not ; triumphing his way, 
Smihng he wends : the ruined, hopeless pair. 
O'er many a field follow his tov.T«\**ard steps. 
Then back return ; and, perching on the bush. 
Find nought of all they loved, but one smaU tuft 

c 2 



26 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 

Of moss, and withered roots. Drooping" they sit, 
Silent : afar at last they fly, o'er hill 
And lurid moor, to mourn in other groves. 
And soothe, in gentler grief, their hapless lot. 

Meantime the younger victims, one by one. 
Drop off, by care destroyed, and food unfit. 
Perhaps one, hardier than the rest, survives. 
And 'tween the wicker bars, with fading weeds 
Entwined, hung at some lofty window, hops 
From stick to stick his small unvaried round ; 
While opposite, but higher still, the lark 
Stands fluttering, or runs o'er his narrow field, 
A span-breadth turf, tawny and parched, with wings 
Qiiivering, as if to fly : his carol gay 
Lightening the pale mechanic's tedious task. 
Poor birds, most sad the change ! of daisied fields. 
Of hawthorn blooming sprays, of boundless air. 
With melody replete, for clouds of smoke. 
Through which the daw flies cawing, steeple high ; 
Or creak of grinding wheels, or skillet tongue. 
Shrilly reviling, more discordant still 1 

But what their wretchedness, parents or young. 
Compared to that which wrings the human breast. 
Doomed to lament a loss, than death more dire,— 
The robbery of a child ! Aye, there is wretchedness ! 
Snatched playful from the rosy bank, by hands 
Inured to crimes, the innocent is born 
Far, far aw^ay. Of all the varying forms 
Of human wo, this the most dire ! To think 
He might have been now sporting at your side. 
But that, neglected, he was left a prey 
To pirate hands ! To think how he will shudder. 
To see a hideous haggard face attempt 
To smile away his tears, caressing him 
With horrible embrace, the while he calls 
Aloud, in vain, to you ! Nor does even time, — 
Assuager of all other woes, — bring balm 
To this. Each child, to boyish years grown up, 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 27 

Reminds you of your boy ! He might have been 

Like this, fair, blooming, modest, looking down 

With most engaging bashfulness : but now, 

Instead of this, perhaps, with sable mask 

Begrimed, he feebly totters 'neath a load. 

More fitted to his cruel master's strength. 

Perhaps, to manhood come, allured to sell 

His life, his freedom, for some paltry pounds, 

He now lies 'mong the numbered, nameless crowd. 

That groan on gory fields, envying the dead ! 

Or, still more dreadful fate ! dragged, trained, compelled. 

To vice, to crimes, death-sentenced crimes, perhaps 

Among those miserable names, which blot 

The calendar of death, is his inscribed! 

How much alike in habits, form, and size, 
The merle and the mavis !* how unlike 
In plumage, and in song! The thrush's song 
Is varied as his plumes ^ and as his plumes 
Blend beauteous, each with each, so run his notee 
Smoothly, with many a happy rise and fall. 
How prettily, upon his parded breast. 
The vividly contrasted tints unite 
To please the admiring eye ; so, loud and soft. 
And high and low, all in his notes combine, 
In alternation sweet, to charm the ear. 

Full earlier than the blackbird he begins 
His vernal strain. Regardless of the frown 
Which winter casts upon the vernal day. 
Though snowy flakes melt in the primrose cup. 
He, warbling on, awaits the sunny beam. 
That mild gleams down, and spreads o'er all the grove. 
But now his song a partner for him gains j 
And in the hazel bush, or sloe, is formed 
The habitation of the wedded pair : 
Sometimes below the never-fading leaves 



Thrush. 



28 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 

Of ivy closCi that overtwisting binds, 

And richly crowns, with clustered fruit of spring", 

Some riven rock, or nodding castle wall : 

Sometimes beneath the jutting root of elm. 

Or oak, among the sprigs, that overhang 

A pebble-chiding stream, the loam-lined house 

Is fixed, well hid from ken of hovering ha%k. 

Or larking beast, or schoolboy's prowling eye ; 

Securely there the dam sits all day long. 

While from the adverse bank, on topmost shoot 

Of odour-breathing birch, her mate's blythe chaunt 

Cheers her pent hours, and makes the wild woods ring. 

Grudge not, ye owners of the fruited boughs, 

That he should pay himself for that sweet music, 

With which, in blossom time, he cheers your hearts ! 

Scare, if ye will, his timid wing away. 

But, oh, let not the leaden viewless shower, 

VoUied from flashing tube, arrest his flight. 

And fill his tuneful gasping bill v/ith blood ! 

These two, all others of the singing quires. 
In size, surpass. A contrast now behold : 
The little woodland dwarf, the tiny wren. 
That from the root-sprigs trills her ditty clear. 
Of stature most diminutive herself; 
Not so her wondrous house ; for, strange to tell ! 
Her^s is the largest scructure that is formed 
By tuneful bill and breast. 'Neath some old root. 
From which the sloping soil, by wintry rains. 
Has been all worn away, she fixes up 
Her curious dwelling, close, and vaulted o'er, 
And in the side a little gateway porch, 
In which (for I have seen) she'll sit and pipe 
A merry stave of her shrill roundelay. 
Nor always does a single gate suffice 
For exit and for entrance to her dome ; 
For when (as sometimes liaps) within a bush 
She builds the artful fabric, then each side 
Has its own portico. But, mark within! 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 29 

How skilfully the finest plumes and downs 

Are softly warped ; how closely all around 

The outer layers of moss ! each circumstance 

Most artfully contrived to favour warmth ! 

Here read the reason of the vaulted roof; 

Here Providence compensates, ever kind, 

The enormous disproportion that subsists 

Between the mother and the numerous brood, 

Which her small bulk must quicken into life. 

Fifteen white spherules, small as moorland hare-bell, 

And prettily bespecked, like fox-glove flower. 

Complete her number. Twice five days she sits. 

Fed by her partner, never flitting* off. 

Save when the morning- sun is high, to drink 

A dewdrop from the nearest flow'ret cup. 

But now behold the greatest of this train 
Of miracles stupendously minute ; 
The num.erous progeny, clamant for food, 
Supplied by two small bills, and feeble wings 
Of narrow range , supplied, aye, duly fed. 
Fed in the dark, and yet not one forgot ! 

When whinny braes are garlanded with gold. 
And, blythe, the lamb pui'sues, in merry chase, 
His twin around the bush ; the linnet, then. 
Within the prickly fortress builds her bower. 
And warmly lines it round, with hair and wool 
Inwove. Sweet minstrel ! may'st thou long delight 
The whinny knoll, and broomy brae, and bank 
Of fragrant birch ! May never fowler's snare 
Tangle thy struggling foot ! Or, if thou'rt doomed 
Within the narrow cage thy dreary days 
To pine, may ne'er the glowing wire (oh, crime accursed !) 
Quencli, with fell agony, thy shrivelling eye ! 
Deprived of air and freedom, shall the light 
Of day, thy only pleasure, be denied? 
But thy own song v/ill still be left : with it. 
Darkling, thou'lt soothe the lingering hours away j 
And thou wilt learn to find thy triple perch. 



30 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 

Thy seed-box, and thy beverage saffron -tinged. 

Nor is thy lot more hard than that wliich they 

(Poor linnets !) prove in many a storied pile :* 

They see the light, 'tis true, — they see, and know 

That light for them is but an implement 

Of toil. In summer with the sun they rise 

Tt) toil, and with his setting beam they cease 

To toil: nor does the shortened winter day 

Their toil abridge ; for, ere the cock's first crow. 

Aroused to toil, they lift their heavy eyes, 

And force their childish limbs to rise and toil; 

And while the winter night, by cottage fire, 

Is spent in homebred industry, relieved 

By harmless glee, or tale of witch, or gliost. 

So dreadful that the housewife's listening wheel 

Suspends its hum, their toil protracted lasts : 

Even when the royal birth, by wondrous grace. 

Gives one half day to mirth, that shred of time 

Must not be lost, but thriftily ekes out 

To-morrow's and to-morrow's lengthened task. 

No joys, no sports have they : what little time, 

The fragment of an hour, can be retrenched 

From labour, is devoted to a show, 

A boasted boon, of what the public gives,— 

Instruction. Viewing all around the bliss 

Of liberty, they feel its loss the more; 

Freely through boundless air, they wistful see 

The wild bird's pinion past their prison flit; 

Free in the air the merry lark they see 

On high ascend ; free on the swinging spray 

The woodland bird is perched, and leaves at will 

Its perch ; the open quivering bill they see. 

But no sweet note by them is heard, all lost. 

Extinguished in the noise that ceaseless stuns the ear. 



* The allusion here is chiefly to cotton-mills. 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 31 

Here vice collected festers, and corrupts ; 
The female virtues fade ; and, in their stead. 
Spring's up a produce rank of noxious weeds. 
And, if such be the effects of that sad system. 
Which, in the face of nature's law, would wring 
Gain from the labouring" hands of playful children; 
If such the effects, vsrhere worth and sense direct 
The living, intellectual machines. 
What must not follow, when the power is lodged 
With senseless, sordid, heartless avarice ? 
Where, fancy, hast thou led me ? No, stern truthy 
'Tis thou hast led me from tlie pleasant sight 
Of blossomed furze, and bank of fragrant birch. 
And now once more I turn me to the woods. 
With willing step, and list, closing my eyes, 
The lulling soothing sounds, that pour a balm 
Into the rankled soul ; the brooklet's murmur, 
That, louder to the ear, long listening, grows. 
And louder still, like noise of many waters, 
Yet not so loud but that the wild bee's buzz 
Slung past the ear, and grasshopper's shrill chirp. 
Are heard ; for now the sultry hours unfurl 
Each insect wing: the aimless butterflies, 
In airy dance, cross and recross the mead ; 
The dragon-fly, in horizontal course. 
Spins over-head, and fast eludes the sight. 

At such a still and sultry hour as this. 
When not a strain is heard through all the woods, 
I've seen the shilfa* light from off his perch. 
And hop into a shallow of the stream. 
Then, half afraid, flit to the shore, then in 
Again alight, and dip his rosy breast 
And fluttering wings, while dewlike globules coursed 
The plumage of his brown-empurpled back. 
The barefoot boy, who, on some slaty stone. 



Chaffinch. 



32 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 

Almost too hot for toucli, has watching stood. 

Now thinks the well-drenched prize his own. 

And rushes forward ; — quick, though wet, the wing 

Gains the first branches of some neiglibouring tree. 

And baulks the upward gazing hopeless eye. 

The r.ifiiip-g plumes are sliook, the pens are trimmed. 

And t'i;U and clear the sprightly ditty rings. 

Cheering the brooding dam : she sits concealed 

Within the nest deep-hollowed, well disguised 

With lichens grey, and mosses gradual blent, 

As if it were a knurle in the bough. 

With equal art externally disguised, 
But of i:>ternal structure passing far 
The feathered concaves of the other tribes, 
The GOLDFINCH wcaves,. with willow down inlaid. 
And cannach tufts, his v/ondtrful abode. 
Sometimes, suspended at the limber end 
Of planetree spray, among the broad-leaved shoots. 
The tiny hammock swings to every gale ; 
Sometimes in closest tiiickets 'tis concealed ; 
Sometimes in hedge luxuriant, where the brier, 
The bramble and the plumtree branch 
Warp through the thorn, surmounted by the flowers 
Of cUmbing vetch, and honeysuckle wild. 
All undefaced by art's deforming hand. ^^ 

But mark the pretty bird himself! how light 
And quick his every motion, every note ! 
How beautiful his plumes \ his red-ringed head ; 
His breast of brown ; and see him stretch his wing, — 
A fairy fan of golden spokes it seems. 
Oft on the thistle's tuft he, nibbling, sits. 
Light as the down; then, 'mid a flight of downs, 
He wings his way, piping his shrillest call. 
Proud Thistle ! emblem dear to Scotland's sons ! 
Begirt with threatening points, strong in defence. 
Unwilling to assault ! By thee tlie arm 
Of England was repelled ; the rash attempt, 
Oft did the wounded arm of England rue . 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 33 

But fraud prevailed, where force had tried in rain : 
Fraud undermined tliy root, and laid thy head. 
Thy crested head, low sullied in the dust. 
Belhaven, Fletcher, venerated shades ! 
Long" shall your glorious names, your words of fire. 
Spite of beleg-ered Trade's corrupting creed, 
That estimates a country by its gold. 
And balances surrendered freedom's self,— 
The life-blood of a people ! — with a show 
Of columns crowded full of pounds and pence ; 
Long shall your names illume the historic page, 
Inspire the poet's lay, kindle the glow 
Of noble daring in the patriot's breast ! 

Deep-toned (a contrast to the goldfinch note) 
The CUSHAT plains; nor is her changeless plaint 
Unmusical, wlien with the general quire 
Of woodland harmony it softly blends. 
Her sprig-formed nest, upon some hawthorn branch, 
Is laid so thinly, that tl^e light of day 
Is through it seen. So rudely is it formed. 
That oft the simple boy, who counts the hours 
By blowing off the dandelion downs. 
Mistakes the witch-knots for the cushat's nest. 
Sweet constant bird ! the lover's favourite theme ! 
Protected by the love-inspiring lay 
Seldom thou mov'st thy home ; year after year, 
The self same tree beholds thy youngling pair 
Matured to flight. — There is a hawthorn tree 
With which the ivy arms have wrestled long ; 
rris old, yet vigorous : beneath its shade 
A beauteous herb, so rare, that all the woods, 
For far and near around, cannot produce 
Its like, shoots upright j from the stalk 
Four pointed leaves, luxuriant, smooth, diverge. 
Crowned with a berry of deep purple hue. 
Upon this aged thorn, a lovely pair 
Of cushats wont to build: No schoolboy's hand 
Would rob their simple nest ; the constant coo, 

D 



.;^Tv^. 



34 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 

That floated down the dell, softened his heart. 
But, ah ! the pirate of the rock, the hawk. 
Hovering", discerned the prize : Soft blew the gale 
Of May, and fidl the greenwood chorus rose. 
All but the sweet dove's note : In vain the ear 
Turned listening ; strewn upon the ground. 
The varying plumes, with drooping violets mixed, 
Disclosed the death the beauteous bird had died. 

Where are your haunts, ye helpless birds of song. 
When winter's cloudy wing begins to shade 
The emptied fields ; when ripening sloes assume 
Their deepest jet, and wild plums purple hang 
Tempting, yet harsh till mellowed by the frost ? 
Ah, now ye sit crowding upon the thorns. 
Beside your former homes., all desolate, 
And filled with withered leaves ; while field fair flocks 
From distant lands alight, and, chirping, fly 
From hedge to hedge, fearful of man's approach. 

Of all the tuneful tribes, the Redbreast sole 
Confides himself to man ; others sometimes 
Are driven within our lintel-posts by storms, 
And, fearfully, the sprinkled crumbs partake : 
He feels himself at home. When lowers the year, 
He perches on the village turfy copes, 
And, with his sweet but interrupted trills, 
Bespeaks the pity of his future host. 
But long he braves the season, ere he change 
The heavens' grand canopy for man's low home ; 
Oft is he seen, when fleecy showers bespread 
The house-tops white, on the thawed smiddy roof, 
Or in its open window he alights. 
And, fearless of the clang, and furn'ace glare, 
Looks round, arresting the uplifted arm, 
While on the anvil cools the glowing bar. 
But when the season roughens, and the drift 
Flies upward, mingling with the falling flakes 
In whirl confused, — then on the cottage floor 
He lights, and hops, and flits, from place to place, 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 35 

Restless at first, till, by degrees, he feels 

He is in safety: Fearless then he sings 

The winter day ; and when the long dark night 

Has drawn the rustic circle round the fire, 

Waked by the dinsome wheel, he trims his plumes. 

And, on the distaff perched, chaunts soothingly 

His summer song ; or, fearlessly, lights down 

Upon the basking sheep-dog's glossy fur ; 

Till, chance, the herd-boy, at his supper mess. 

Attract his eye, then on the milky rim 

Brisk he alights, and picks his little share. 

Besides the Redbreast's note, one other strain. 
One summer strain, on wintry days is heard. 
Amid the leafless thorn the merry Wren, 
When icicles hang dripping from the rock, 
Pipes her perennial lay ; even when the flakes. 
Broad as her pinions, fall, she lightly flies 
Athwart the shower, and sings upon the wing. 

While thus the smallest of the plumy tribes 
Defies the storm, others there are that fly. 
Long ere the winter lours, to genial skies j 
Nor this cold clime revisit, till the blooms 
Of parting spring blow 'mid the summer buds. 



PART SECOND. 

JrloW sweet the first sound of tiifv cuckoo's note !• 

Whence is the magic pleasure of the sound ? 

How do we long recal the very tree. 

Or bush, near which we stood, when on the ear 

The unexpected note, cuckoo! again, 

And yet again, came down the budding vale ! 

It is the voice of spring among the trees ; 

It tells of lengthening days, of coming blooms ; 

It is the symphony of many a song. 



36 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 

But, there, the stranger flies close to the ground. 
With hawklike pinion, of a leaden blue. 
Poor wanderer ! from hedge to hedge she fiiet. 
And trusts her offspring to another's care : 
The sooty-plumed hedge-sparrow frequent acts 
The foster-mother, warming into life 
The youngling destined to supplant her own. 
Meanwhile, the cuckoo sings her idle song. 
Monotonous, yet sweet, now here, now there. 
Herself but rarely seen : nor does she cease 
Her changeless note, until the broom, full blown. 
Give warning that her time for flight is come. 
Thus, ever journeying on, from land to land. 
She, sole of all the innumerous feathered tribes. 
Passes a stranger's life, without a home. 

Home ! word delightful to the heart of man. 
And bird, and beast ! — small word, yet not the less 
Significant :— comprising all ! 
Whatever to affection is most dear. 
Is all included in that little word, — 
Wife, children, father, mother, brother, friend. 
At mention of that word, the seaman, clinging 
Upon the dipping yard-arm, sees afar 
The twinkling fire, round which his children cower. 
And speak of him, counting the months, and weeks, 
That must pass dreary o'er, ere he return. 
He sighs to view the sea-bird's rapid wing. 

Oh, had I but the envied power to chuse 
My home, no sound of city bell should reach 
My ear : not even the can-^on's thundering roar. 
Far in a vale, be there my low abode. 
Embowered in woods where many a songster chaunts. 
And let me now indulge the airy dream ! 
A bow-shot off, in front, a river flows. 
That, during summer drought, shallow and clear. 
Chides with its pebbly bed, and, murmuring. 
Invites forgetfulness ^ half hid it flows. 
Now l^etwecn rocks, now through a bush-girt glade, 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 37 

Now sleeping in a pool, that laves the roots 
Of overhanging" trees, whose drooping boughs 
Dip midway over in the darkened stream ; 
While ever and anon, upon the breeze. 
The dash of distant waterfall is borne. 
A range of hills, with craggy summits crowned, 
And furrowed deep with many a bosky cleugh. 
Wards off the northern blast: There skims the hawk 
Forth from her cliff, eyeing the furzy slope 
That joins the mountain to the smiling vale. 
Through all the woods the holly evergreen. 
And laurel's softer leaf, and ivied thorn. 
Lend winter shelter to the shivering wing. 
No gravelled paths, pared from the smooth-shaved turf. 
Wind through these woods ; the simple unmade road. 
Marked with the frequent hoof of sheep or kine. 
Or rustic's studded shoe, I love to tread. 
No threatening board forewarns the homeward hind. 
Of man-traps, or of law's more dreaded gripe. 
Pleasant to see the labourer homeward hie 
Light hearted, as he thinks his hastening steps 
Will soon be welcomed by his children's smile ! 
Pleasant to see the milkmaid's blythesome look. 
As to the trysting thorn she gaily trips. 
With steps that scarcely feel the elastic ground ! 
Nor be the lowly dwellings of the poor 
Thrust to a distance, as unseemly sights. 
Curse on the heartless taste that, proud, exclaims, 
" Erase the hamlet, sweep the cottage oiF^ 
** Remove each stone, and only leave behind 
** The trees that once-embowered the wretched huts. 
" What though the inmates old, who hoped to end 
** Their days below these trees, must seek a home, 
** Far from their natives fields, far from the graves 
** In which their fathers lie, — to city lanes, 
" Darksome and close, exiled ? It must be so ; 
** The wide -extending lawn would else be marred, 
** By objects so incongruous." Barbarous taste ! 

D 2 



38 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 

Stupidity intense ! Yon straw-roofed cot. 
Seen through the elms, it is a lovely sight ! 
That scattered hamlet, with its burn-side green. 
On which the thrifty housewife spreads her yarn. 
Or half-bleached web, while children busy play, 
And paddle in the stream, — for every heart. 
Untainted by pedantic rules, hath charms. 

I love the neighbourhood of man and beast : 
I would not place my stable out of sight. 
No ! close behind my dwelling, it should form 
A fence, on one side, to my garden plat. 
What beauty equals shelter, in a clime 
Where wintry blasts with summer breezes blend. 
Chilling the day ! How pleasant 'tis to hear 
December's winds, amid surrounding trees. 
Raging aloud ! how grateful 'tis to wake. 
While raves the midnight storm, and hear the sound 
Of busy grinders at the well-filled rack ; 
Or flapping wing, and crow of chanticleer. 
Long ere the lingering morn ; or bouncing flails. 
That tell the dawn is near ! Pleasant the path 
By sunny garden-wall, when all the fields 
Are chill and comfortless : or barn -yard snug. 
Where flocking birds, of various plume, and chirp 
Discordant, cluster on the leaning stack. 
From whence the thresher draws the rustling sheaves. 

Oh, nature ! all thy seasons please the eye 
Of him who sees a Deity in all. 
It is His presence that difliises charms 
Unspeakable, o'er mountain, wood, and stream. 
To think that He, who hears the heaveiily quires, 
Hearkens complacent to the woodland song ; 
To think that He, who rolls yon solar sphere. 
Uplifts the warbling songster to the sky ; 
To make His presence in the mighty bow^ 
That spans the clouds, as in the tints minute 
Of tiniest flower; to hear His awful voice 
In thunder speak, and whisper in the gale : 



I 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 39 

To know and feel His care for all that lives , — 
'Tis this that makes the barren waste appear 
A fruitful field, each grove a paradise. 
Yes ! place me 'mid far-stretching woodless wilds. 
Where no sweet song is heard ; the heath-bell there 
Would soothe my weary sight, and tell of Thee ! 
There would my gratefully uplifted eye 
Survey the heavenly vault, by day, — by night, 
When glows the firmament from pole to pole ; 
There would my overflowing heart exclaim. 
The hewvens declare the glory of the Lord; 
The firmament shews forth his handy viork ! 

Less loud, but not less clear, His humbler works 
Proclaim his power : the swallow knows her time. 
And, on the vernal breezes, wings her way, 
O'er mountain, plain, and far-extending seas. 
From Afric's torrid sands to Britain's shore. 
Before the cuckoo's note, she, twittering, gay. 
Skims 'long the brook, or o'er the brushwood tops. 
When dance the midgy clouds in warping maze 
Confused : 'tis thus, by her^ the air is swept 
Of insect myriads, that would else infest 
The greenwood walk, blighting each rural joy : 
For this, — if pity plead in vain, — oh, spare 
Her clay-built home ! Her all, her young, she ti'usts. 
Trusts to the power of man : fearful, herself 
She never trusts ; free, on the summer morn. 
She, at his window, hails the rising sun. — 
Twice seven days she broods ; then on the wing. 
From morn to dewy eve, unceasing plies, 
Save when she feeds or cherishes her young \ 
And oft she's seen, beneath her little porch. 
Clinging supine, to deal the air-gleaned food. 

From her the husbandman the coming shower 
Foretels : Along the mead closely she skiffs. 
Or o'er the streamlet pool she skims, so near. 
That, from her dipping wing, the wavy circlets 



40 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 



P 



Spread to the shore ^ then fall the single .drops. 
Prelusive of the shower. 

The MARTINS, too, 
The dwellers in the ruined castle wall, 
When lowers the sky a flight less lofty wheel. 
Presage ful of the thunder peal, when deep 
A boding silence broods o'er all the vale. 
From airy altitudes they stoop, and fly 
Swiftly, with shrillest scream, round and round 
The rug-ged battlements ; or fleetly dart 
Through loopholes, whence the shaft was wont to glance^ 
Or thrid the window of the lofty bower. 
Where hapless royalty, with care-closed eyes, 
Woo'd sleep in vain, foreboding what befel, — 
The loss of friends, of country, freedom, life ! 

Long ere the wintry gusts, with chilly sweep. 
Sigh through the leafless groves, the swallow tribes. 
Heaven-warned, in airy bevies congregate, 
Or clustering sit, as if in deep consult 
What time to launch , but, lingering, they wait. 
Until the feeble of the latest broods 
Have gathered strength, the seaward path to brave. 
At last the farewel twitter spreading sounds. 
Aloft they fly, and melt ia distant air. 
Far o'er the British sea, in westering course. 
O'er the Biscayan mountain-waves they glide : 
Then o'er Iberian plains, through fields of air. 
Perfumed by orchard groves, where lowly bends 
The orange-bough beneath its juicy load. 
And over Calpe's iron-fenced rock, their course. 
To Mauritania's sunny plains, the urge. 

There are who doubt this migratory voyage. 
But wherefore, from the distance of the flight. 
Should wonder verge on disbelief, — the bulk 
So small, so large and strong the buoyant wing? 

Behold the corn-craik ! She, too, wings her way 
To other lands : ne'er is she found immersed 
In lakes, or buried torpid in the sand. 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 41 

Though weak her wing, contrasted with her bulk. 
Seldom she rises from the grassy field, 
And never till compelled ; and, when upraised. 
With feet suspended, aukwardly she flies ; 
Her flight a ridgebreadth : suddenly she drops. 
And, running, still eludes the following foot. 

Poor bird ! though harsh thy note, I love it well ! 
It tells of summer eves, mild and serene. 
When through the grass, waist-deep, I wont to wade 
la fruitless chace of thee ; now here, now there. 
Thy desultory call. Oft does thy call 
The midnight silence break ; oft, ere the dawn, 
It wakes the slumbering lark ; he upward wings 
His misty way, and, viewless, sings and soars. 



PART THIRD. 

FaRBWEL the greenwood, and the welkin song! 
Farewel the harmless bill ! — The overfolding beak, 
Incurvated ; the clutching pounce ; the eye. 
Ferocious, keen, full-orbed ; the attitude 
Erect ; the skimming flights ; the hovering poise j 
The rapid sousing stroke; — these now I sing! 

How fleet the falcon's pinion in pursuit ! 
Less fleet the linnet's flight ! — Alas, poor bird ! 
Weary and weak is now thy flagging wing, 
While close and closer draws the eager foe. 
Now up she rises, and, with arrowed pinions. 
Impetuous souses ; but in vain : With turn 
Sudden, the linnet shuns the deadly stroke. 
Throwing her far behind , but quick again 
She presses on : down drops the feeble victim 
Into the hawthorn bush, and panting sits. 
The falcon, skimming round and round, espies 
Her prey, and darts among the prickly twigs. 



42 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 

Unequal now the chace ! stPug-gUng she strives, 
Entang-led in the thorny labyrinth. 
While easily its way the small bird winds, 
Reg-aining" soon the centre of the grove. 

But not alone the dwellers of the wood 
Tremble beneath the falcon's fateful wing : 
Oft hovering o'er the barn-yard is she seen. 
In early spring, when round their ruffling dam 
The feeble younglings pick the pattering hail : 
And oft she plunges low, and swiftly skims 
The ground ; as oft the bold and threatening mien 
Of chanticleer deters her from the prey. 

Amid the mountain fells, or river cliffs 
Abrupt, the falcon's e3Ty, perched on liigh, 
Defies access : broad to the sun 'tis spread. 
With withered sprigs hung o'er the dizzy brink. 
What dreadful cliffs o'erhang this little stream ! 
So loftily they tower, that he who looks 
Upward, to view their almost meeting summits. 
Feels sudden giddiness, and instant grasps 
The nearest fragment of the channel rocks. 
Resting his aching eye on some green branch. 
That midway down shoots from the creviced crag. 
Athwart the narrow chasm fleet flies the rack. 
Each cloud no sooner visible than gone; 
While 'tween these natural bulwarks, that deride 
The art of man, murmurs the hermit brook. 
And joins, with opened banks, the full-streamed Clyde, 

How various are thy aspects, noble stream ! 
Now gliding silently by sloping banks. 
Now flowing softly, with a silver sound. 
Now rushing, tumbling, boiling, through the rocks. 
Even on that bulging verge smooth flows thy stream, 
Then spreads along a gentle ledge, then sweeps 
Compressed by an abutting turn, till o'er 
It pours tremendously ^ again it sweeps 
Unpausing, till, again, with louder roar, 
It mines into the boisterous wheeling gulf; 



i 



7^. 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. '43 

While high the boulted foam, at times, displays 

An Iris arch, thrown light from rock to rock j 

And oft the swallow through the misty cloud 

Flits fearlessly, and drinks upon the wing. 

Oh, what an amphitheatre surrounds 

The abyss, in which the downward mass is plunged. 

Stunning the ear ! High as the falcon's flight. 

The rocks precipitous ascend, and bound 

The scene magnificent ; deep, deep below. 

The snowy surge spreads to a dark expanse. 

These are the very rocks, on which the eye 
Of Walt.ace gazed, the music this he loved. 
Oft has he stood upon the trembling brink, 
Unstayed by tree or twig, absorbed in thought ; 
There would he trace, with eager eye, the oak, 
Uprooted from its bank by ice-fraught floods, 
And floating o'er the dreadful cataract : 
There would he moralize upon its fate ; — 
It re-appears with scarce a broken bough; 
It re-appears, — Scotland may yet be free ! 

High rides the moon amid the fleecy clouds. 
That glisten, as they float athwart her disk ; 
Sweet is the glimpse that, for a moment, plays 
Among these mouldering pinnacles: — but, hark! 
That dismal cry! It is the wailing owl. 
Night long she mourns, perched in some vacant niche. 
Or time-rent crevice: Sometimes to the woods 
She bends her silent slowly moving wing. 
And on some leafless tree, dead of old age, 
Sits watching for her prey: But should the foot 
Of man intrude into her solemn shades. 
Startled, she hears the fragile breaking branch 
Crash as she rises : — farther in the gloom. 
To deeper solitudes she wings her way. 

Oft in the hurly of the wintry storm. 
Housed in som.e rocking steeple, «he augments 
The horror of the night; or when the winds 
Exliausted pause, she listens to the sound 



44 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 

Of the slow-swinging- pendulum, till loud 
Again the blast is up, and lightning gleams 
Shoot 'thwart, and ring a faint and deadly toll. 

On ancient oak, or elm, whose topmost boughs 
Begin to fail, the raven's twig-formed house 
Is built ; and, many a year, the self same tree 
The aged solitary pair frequent. 
But distant is their range ; for oft at morn 
They take their flight, and not till twilight grey 
Their slow returning cry hoarse meets the ear. 

Well does the raven love the sound of war. — 
Amid those plains, where Danube darkly rolls. 
The theatres, on which the kingly play 
Of war is oftenest acted, there the peal 
Of cannon-mouths summons the sable flocks 
To wait their death-doomed prey ; and they do wait : 
Yes, when the glittering columns, front to front 
Drawn out, approach in deep and awful silence. 
The raven's voice is heard hovering between. 
Sometimes, upon the far-deserted tents, 
She boding sits, and sings her fateful song. 
But in the abandoned field she most delights, 
When o'er the dead and dying slants the beam 
Of peaceful mom, and wreaths of reeking mist 
Rise from the gore-dewed sward : from corpse to corpse 
She revels, far and wide , then, sated, flies 
To some shot shivered branch, whereon she cleans 
Her purpled beak ; and down she lights again. 
To end her horrid meai : another, keen. 
Plunges her beak deep in yon horse's side. 
Till, by the hungry hound displaced, she flits 
Once more to human prey. 

Ah, who is he. 
At whose heart-welling wound she drinks, 
Glutting her thirst! He was a lovely youth ; 
Fair Scotia was his home, until his sire 
To swollen Monopoly resigned, heai-t-wrung, 
The small demesne which hia forefathers plowed : 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 45 

Wide then dispersed the famiJy of love. 

One son betook him to the all-friendly main : 

Another, with his aged parents, plied 

The sickly trade, in city garret pent ; 

Their youngest born, the drum and martial show, — 

Deluded half, and half despairing, joined ; 

And soon he lay the food of bird and beast. 

Long is his fate unknown; the horrid sum 

Of dead is named, but sad suspense is left, 

Enlabyrinthed in doubt, to please itself 

With dark, misgiving hope. Ah, one there is. 

Who fosters long the' dying hope, that still 

He may return : The live-long summer day 

She at the house end sks ; and oft her wheel 

Is stopt, while on the road, far- stretched, she bends 

A melancholy, eye -o'er flowing look ; 

Or strives to mould the distant traveller 

Into the form of him who's far away. 

Hopeless, and broken hearted, still loves 

To sing, <* When wild war's deadly blast was blawn.* 

Alas ! War riots with increasing rage. 
Behold that field bestrown with bleaching bones ; 
And, mark ! the raven in the horse's ribs. 
Gathering, encaged, the gleanings of a harvest 
Almost forgotten now : Rejoice, ye birds of prey ! 
No longer shall ye glean your scanty meals : 
Upon that field again long prostrate wreaths, 
Death-mown, shall lie : I see the gory mound 
Of dead, and wounded, piled with here and there 
A living hand, clutching in vain for help. 

But what the horrors of the field of war, 
To those, the sequel of the foiled attempt 
Of fettered vengeance struggling to be free ! — 
Inhuman sons of Europe ! not content 
With dooms of death, your victim high ye hung 
Encaged, to scorch beneath the torrid ray. 
And feed, alive, the hungry fowls of heaven. 
Around the bars already, see, they cling ! 

E 



1 



46 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 

The vulture's head looks through ! she strives in vain 

To force her way : The lesser birds await 

Till worn-out nature sinks ; then on they pounce, 

And tear the quivering" flesh : in agony 

The victim wakes, and rolls his wretched eyes. 

And feebly drives the ravening flocks away. 

Most dreadfully he groans : 'tis thirst, thirst, thirst. 

Direst of human torments ! — down again 

He sinks : — again he feels the torturing beak. 

England, such things have been, and still would be, 
But that the glorious band, the steadfast friends 
Of Afric's sons, stand to avenge 
Tlieir wrongs, and crush the tyrants low. 

On distant waves, the raven of the sea, 
The CORMORANT, devours her carrion food. 
Along the blood-stained coast of Senegal, 
Prowling, she scents the cassia-perfumed breeze 
Tainted with death, and, keener, forward flies : 
The towering sails, th^t waft the house of wo. 
Afar she views : upon the heavy hulk, 
Deep-logged with wretchedness, full fast she gains: 
(Revolting sight ! the flag of freedom waves 
Above the stern-emblazoned words, that tell 
The amount of crimes which Britain's boasted laws, 
Within the narrow wooden walls, permit '.) 
And now she nighs the carnage-freighted keel, 
Unscared by rattling fetters, or the shriek 
Of mothers, o'er their ocean-buried babes. 
Lured by the scent, unweariedly she flies, 
And at the foamy dimples of the track 
Darts sportively, or perches on a corpse. 

From scenes like these, O Scotland, once again 
To thee my weary fancy fondly hies. 
And, with the eagle, mountain-perched, alights. 
Amid Lochaber's wilds, or dark Glencoe, 
High up the pillared mountain's steepest side. 
The eagle, from her eyry on the crag 
Of over-jutting rock, beholds afar. 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 

Viewing" the distant flocks, with ranging eye 

She meditates the prey , but waits the time 

When seas of mist extend along* the vale. 

And, rising- gradual, reach her lofty shore : 

Up then to sunny regions of the air 

She soars, and looks upon tlie white -wreathed summits 

Of mountains, seeming* ocean isles ; then down 

She plunges, stretching through tli€ hazy deep ; 

Unseen she flies, and, on her playful quarry. 

Pounces unseen : The shepherd knows his loss. 

When high o'er-head he hears a passing bleat 

Faint, and more faintly, dying far away. 

And now aloft she bends her homeward course. 

Loaded, yet light -y and soon her youngling pair 

Joyful descry her buoyant wing emerge 

And float along the cloud ; fluttering they stoop 

Upon the dizzy brink, as if they aimed 

To try the abyss, and meet her coming breast ; 

But soon her coming breast, and outstretched wings, 

Glide shadowing down, and close upon their heads. 

It was upon the eagle's plundered store 
That Wallace fared, when hunted from his home, 
A glorious outlaw ! by the lawless power 
Of freedom's foiled assassin, England's king. 
Along the mountain cliflTs, that ne'er were clomb 
By other footstep than his own, 'twas there 
His eagle -visioned genius, towering, planned 
The grand emprise of setting Scotland free. 
He longed to mingle in the storm of war ; 
And as the eagle dauntlessly a»ends. 
Revelling amid the elemented strife. 
His mind sublimed prefigured to itself 
Each circumstance of future hard-fought fields, — 
The battle's hubbub loud ; the forceful press. 
That from his victim hurries him afar ; 
The impetuous close concentrated assault. 
That, like a billow broken on tlie rocks, 
Recedes, but forward heaves with doubled fury. 



48 THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 

When lowers the rack unmoving, high up-piled^ 
And silence deep foretels the thunder near, 
The eagle upward penetrates the gloom, 
And, far above the fire-impregnate wreaths, 
Soaring surveys the ethereal volcanos ; 
Till, muttering low at first, begins the peal^ 
Then she descends, — she loves the thunder's voicQ,— 
She wheels, and sports amid the rattling clouds, 
UnJazzled gazes on the sheeted blaze. 
Darts at the flash, or, hung in hovering poise, 
Delighted hears the music of the roar. 
Nor does the wintry blast, the drifting fall. 
Shrouded in night, and, with a death-hand grasp, 
Benumbing life, drive her to seek the roof 
Of cave, or hollow cliff; firm on her perch. 
Her ancient and accustomed rock, she sits. 
With wing-.couched head, and, to the morning light. 
Appears a frost- rent fragment, coped with snow. 

Yet here, invulnerable as she seems 
By every change of elemental power, 
The art of man, the general foe of man. 
And bird, and beast, subdues ; the leaden bolt. 
Slung from the mimic lightning's nitrous wing. 
Brings low her head ; her close and mailed plumage 
Avails her nought, — for higher than her perch 
The clambering marksman lies, and takes his aim 
Instant upon her flight, when every plume 
Ruffling expands te catch the lifting gale. 
She has the death ; upward a little space 
She springs, then plumb-dowit drops : The victor stands, 
Long listening, ere he hear the fall -, at last. 
The crashing branches of the unseen wood. 
Far down below, send echoing up the sound. 
That faintly rises to his leaning ear. 
But, \fo to him ! if, with the mortal wound. 
She still retain strength to revenge the wrong: 
Her bleeding wing she veers : her maddened eye 
Discerns the lurking wretdi ; on him she springs : 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 49 

One talon clutched, with life's last struggling throes 
Convulsed, is buried at his heart ; the other 
Deep in his tortured eyeballs is transfixed : 
Pleased she expires upon his writhing breast. 

Of bulk more huge, and borne on broader vans. 
The EAGLE OF THE SEA. from Atlas soars. 
Or Teneriffe's hoar peak, and stretches far 
Above the Atlantic wave, contemning distance. 
The watchful helmsman from the stern descries. 
And hails her course, and many an eye is raised. 
Loftier she flies than hundred times mast-height : 
Onward she floats, then plunges from her soar 
Down to the ship, as if she aimed to perch 
Upon the mainmast pinnacle ^ but Up again 
She mounts, Alp high, and, with her lowered head 
Suspended, eyes the bulging sails, disdains 
Their tardy course, outflies the hurrying rack. 
And, disappearing, mingles with the clouds. 




I 



/ 



NOTES 

ON THE 

BIRDS OF SCOTLAND 



" Sweet emblem of his song*. 
Who sung thee wakening by the daisy's side !" 

P. 9, 1. 16, ir. 
** And when the lark, 'tween light and dark, 

Blythe, waukens by the daisy's side. 
And mounts, and sings, on fluttering wings, 

A weaworn ghaist I hameward glide." — Burns. 

" With earliest spring, &c."-— P. 9, 1. 18. 
White, in his Natural History of Selborne, though almost 
invariable correct, has fallen into a mistake as to tlie period of 
the skylark's song. . He makes it commence in February, and 
so far he is right ; but when he adds, and on to October y he is, 
at least, not sufficiently explicit, for though larks do sing in 
October, their song ceases in the month of July, and only re- 
commences^ and that too but feebly and seldom, in October. 

" O'er which he saw ten thousand pinions wheel 
Confused, dimming the sky."— P. 12, 1. 18, 19. 
Dr Harvey's description of the Bass is equally applicable, 
in the circumstance here noticed, to St. Kilda. He says, '* The 
flocks of birds, in flight, are so prodigious as to darken the air 
like clouds." 

*' lona's isle. 
Where Scotland's kings are laid."— P. 12, 1. 24, 25. 
" loana, or Icolmkill, one of the Hebrides ; a small but cele- 



52 



NOTES ON 



brated island, *<once the luminary of the Caledonian regions, 
whence savage clans, and roving barbarians, derived the bene- 
fits of knowledge, and the blessings of religion."* There is in 
the island only one town, or rather village, consisting of about 
sixty houses. Beyond the town are the ruins of the nunnery 
of Austin canonesses, dedicated to St. Or an, and said to be 

founded by Columba A broad paved way leads hence 

to the cathedral^ and on this way is a large handsome cross, 
called Macleatie^s, the only one that remains of 360, which were 
demolished here at the Reformation. Reilig Ouran, or the bu- 
rying-place of Oran, is the large inclosure where the kings of 
Scotland, Ireland, and of the isles, and their descendants, were 
buried in three several chapels. The Dean of the isles, who 
travelled over them in 1549, and whose account has been copied 
by Buchanan, and published at Edinburgh in 1784, says, that, in 
his time, on one of these chapels (or " tombes of stain formit 
like little chapels, with ane braid gray marble, or quhin stain, 
on the gavil of ilk ane of the tombes," containing, as the chroni- 
cle says, the remains of forty-eight Scotch monarchs, from 
Fergus II to Macbeth, sixteen of whom were pretended to be 
of the race of Alpin) was inscribed, 'Tumulus regum Scotiae.' 
The next was inscribed, * Tumulus regum Hibernise,' and con- 
tained four Irish monarchs : and the third inscribed, * Tumulus 
regum Norwegise,' contained eight Norwejg-ian princes, or vice- 
roys, of the Hebrides, while they were subject to the crown of 
Norway. Boetius says, that Fergus founded this abbey for the 
burial-place of his successors, and caused an office to be com- 
posed for the funeral ceremony. All that Mr. Pennant could 
discover here, were only slight remains, built in a ridged form, 

and arched within, but the inscriptions lost This once 

illustrious seat of learning and piety has now no school for 
education, no temple for worship." Enc3^clop<edia Britannipa. 

*< Featly athwart the ridge she runs." — P. 13, 1. 13. 
In referring the different birds to the one or the other sex, 
custom has been nearly arbitrary. Thus the partridge is always 

* Johnson. 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAKD. 53 

spoken of in the feminine gender : The lark, on the other hand, 
is, generally, a male. The luren is always feminine, the red- 
breast masculine. The birds of prey are almost alwaj^ de- 
scribed as females. For this pre-eminence, indeed, there seems 
to be a good reason, namely, that the females of birds of prey 
are, in general, superior in size and strength to the males. Per- 
haps the appropriation of the one or the other gender, to this 
or that species of birds, depends upon two points, — What is 
*the most conspicuous characteristic quality of the species ; and. 
In which of the sexes is that characteristic quality most strongly 
marked. The most striking and conspicuous characteristic of 
some species of birds is their power of song : This power exists- 
almost exclusively in the male; and, accordingl}-, we find, that 
most singing birds are spoken of in the masculine gender. 

"The gorcock's call."— P. 15, I. 11. 
Red game, gorcock, moorcock. — Pennant, Bewick, he, 

** Eight spotted spheroids sees."— P. 15, 1. 22. 
" These birds pair in the spring, and lay from six to ten 
eersrs." — Pennant. 



" She, if or dog 
Or man intrude upon her bleak domain. 
Skims clamouring^." P. 17, 1. 1, 2, 3. 

** Hence, around the head 
Of wandering swain, the white- winged plover wheels 
Her sounding flight, and then directly on. 
In long excursion, skims the level lawn. 
To tempt him from her nest." Thomson. 

*' When monarchs owned no sceptre but the sword." 

P. 17, I. 7. 
During the reigns of Charles II and James VII, the cause 
of religion and liberty suffered a most hideous persecution in 
Scotland. Such of the people as did not comply with the ty- 
ranny of the times were hunted down like wild beasts. 



m. 



54 NOTES ON 

*' Whose lips hymned praise, their right hands at their hilts." 

P. 17, 1. 14. 

The following passage, form Wodrow's History, will give 
the reader a pretty lively idea of a conventicle, as well as of the 
general state of the country. 

" Claverhouse seized Mr. John King, preacher, in Hamiltoun^ 
or, as some papers say, in a house, a little south-eait from the 
town ; and about fourteen more countrymen, either come with 
Mr. King, or going to the meeting to-morrow. There was 
some pretence to seize Mr. King, being a vagrant preacher, and 
I think intercom muned 5 but there was no law for seizing the 
rest, they not being in arms, or any thing to be laid to their 
charge. 

*' When this was known, some who escaped, and the people 
near by, began to entertain thoughts of rescuing Mr, King ; and 
some of them went toward Glasgow, acquainting their friends 
by the M'ay^ and hearing of the meeting towards Lowdonhill, 
went thither, expecting assistance from thence. 

*' Meanwhile Claverhouse was likewise advertised of that 
conventicle design next day, and resolved to go and disperse 
them, and come from thence to Glasgow with his prisoners. I 
am told he was dissuaded, by some of his friends, from going 
thither, and assured there would be a good many resolute men 
in arms there ; yet, trusting to his own troop, and some others 
of horse and dragoons he had with him, he would go. 

" Accordingly, upon the sabbath morning, June 1 (1679) 
he marched very early from Hamiltoun to Stratheven town, 
about five miles south, and carried his prisoners with him, 
which was happy for them. They were bound two and two of 
them together, and his men drove them before them, like so 
many sheep. When they came to Stratheven, they had dis- 
tinct accounts that Mr. Thomas Douglas was to preach that 
day near Lowdonhill, three or four miles westward from Strath- 
even : and thither Claverhouse resolves to march straight with 
his party and prisoners. 

" Public worship was begun by Mr. Douglas, when the ac- 
counts came to them that Claverhouse and his men were coming 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 55 

upon them, and had Mr. King* and others, their friends, prisoners. 
Upon this, finding" evil was determined against them, all who 
had arms drew out from the rest of the meeting, and resolved 
to go and meet the soldiers, and prevent their dismissing the 
meeting: and, if possible, relieve Mr. King" and the other 
prisoners. 

** They got together about forty horse, and one hundred and 
fifty or two hundred foot, very ill provided with ammunition, 
and untrained, but hearty and abundantly brisk for action, and 
came up with Claverhouse and his party in a muir, near a place 
called Drumclog, from whence this rencounter hath its name. 

** This little army of raw undisciplined countrymen, who had 
no experience in the business of fighting, neither had they offi- 
cers of skill to lead them, very bravely stood Claverhouse's 
first fire, and returned it with much gallantry ; and after a 
short but very close and warm engagement, the soldiers gave 
way, were entirely defeated, and the prisoners rescued. Claver- 
house and his men fled, and were pursued a mile or two. 

'* In the engagement and pursuit there were about twenty, 
some say forty, of the soldiers killed, and Claverhouse himself 
was in great hazard, had his horse shot under him, and very 
narrowly escaped. Several of the other ofl[icers were wounded, 
and some of tlie soldiers taken prisoners ; whom, having dis- 
armed, they dismissed without any further injury, having no 
prison-house to put them in." — Vol. ii, p. 46. 

** With, here and there, a flower 
Of deep-tinged purple, &c/'— P. 17y 1. 34, 35. 
Pyramidal Orchis. 

** Down the double row 
Of venerable elms is hewn."— P. 18, 1. 29, 30. 
** The avenue has a most striking effect, from the very cir- 
cumstance of its being straight; no other figure can give that 
image of a grand Gothic aisle with its natural columns and 
vaulted roof, whose general mass fills the eye, while the parti- 
cular parts insensibly steal from it in a long gradation of per- 



56 NOTES ON 

spective.* The broad solemn shade adds a twilight calm to the 
whole, and makes it, above all otlier places, most suited to 
meditation. To that also its straightness contributes ; for when 
the mind is disposed to turn inwardly on itself, any serpentine 
line would distract the attention. 

** The destruction of so many of these venerable approaches 
is a fatal consequence of the present excessive h6rror of straight 
lines. Sometimes, indeed, avenues do cut through the middle 
of very beautiful and varied ground, with which the stiffness 
of their form but ill accords, and where it were greatly to be 
wished they had never been planted, as other trees, in various 
positions and groups, would probably have sprung up, in and 
near the place they occupy : but, being there, it may often be 
doubtful whether they ought to be destroyed ; for, whenever 
such a line of trees is taken away, there must be a long vacant 
space that will separate the grounds, with their old original 
trees, on each side of it; and young trees planted in the vacan- 
cy will not, in half a century, connect the whole together. As 
to saving a few trees of the line itself for that purpose, I own 
I never saw it done, that it did not produce a contrary effect* 
and that the spot was not haunted by the ghost of the departed 
avenue." Price's Essay on the Picturesque, Vol. i, 270. — 

" Down crash, 

Upon the grass the orchard trees, &c. — P. 18, 1. 30, 31. 

Price, after condemning the destruction of old gardens, 
adds, * I may perhaps have spoken more feelingly on this sub- 
ject, from having done myself what I so condemn in others, — 
destroyed an old-fashioned garden. It was not indeed in the 
high style of those I have described, but it had many of the 
same circumstances, and which had their effect. As I have 
long since perceived the advantage which I could have made 



* <* By long gradation I do not mean a great length of avenue j 
I perfectly agree with Mr. Burke, * that colonnades and avenues 
of trees, of a moderate length, are, without comparison, far 
grander, than when they are suffered to run to immense 
distances." 



• 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 57 

of them, and how much I could have added to that eflTect -y how 
well I could, in parts, have mixed the modern style, and have 
altered and concealed many of the stiff and g'laring'fornialities, 
I have long regretted its destruction. I destroyed it, not from 
disliking" it^ on the contrary, it was a sacrifice I made, against 
my own sensations, to the prevailing opinion.' Vol. ii, 142,143. 

«* Around the whole a line vermicular." P. 19, 1. 11. 
* The next leading feature to the clump,* in this circular 
«ystem (and one which, in romantic situations, rivals it in the 
power of creating deformity) is the delt. Its sphere, however, 
is more contracted : Clumps, placed like beacons on the sum- 
mits of hills, alarm the picturesque traveller many miles off, 
and warn him of his approach to the enemy ^ the belt lies more 
in ambuscade, and the wretch who falls into it, and is obliged 
to walk the whole round in company with the improter, will 
allow, that a snake with its tail in its mouth is, comparatively, 
but a faint emblem of eternity. It has, indeed, all the same- 
ness and formality of the avenue, to which it has succeeded, 
without any of its simple grandeur : For though, in an avenue, 
you see the same objects from begining to end, and in the belt 
a new set every twenty yards, yet each successive part of this 
insipid circle is so like the preceding, that, though really dif- 
ferent, the difference is scarcely felt , and there is nothing that 
so dulls, and, at the same time, so irritates the mind, as per- 
petual change without variety,' Ibid. Vol. i, 269, 270, 

** Of melancholy fir, and leaning larch.^' P. 19, 1. 12. 
The fashionable predilection of improvers for ihefhie tribes, 



* '* I remember hearing that, when Mr. Bi-own was High- 
sheriff, some facetious person observing his attendants strag- 
gling, called out to him, *' Clump your javelifi 7nen.'^ Wliat 
was intended merely as a piece of ridicule, might have served 
as a very instructive lesson to the object of it, and have taught 
Mr. Bro^^^^, that such figures should be confined to bcydies of 
men drilled for the purpose of formal parade, and not extended 
to the loose and airy shapes of vegetation." 

F 



58 NOTES ON 

and, particular^, for the larch and fir, induces me to quote the 
following passages from the author already mentioned. 

** The trees which principally shewed themselves were lar- 
ches ; and, from the multitude of their sharp points, the whole 
country appeared efi herisson, and had much the same degree 
of resemblance to natural scenery, that one of the old military 
plans, with scattered platoons of spearmen, has to a print after 
Claude or Poussin. 

** A planter very naturally wishes to produce some appear- 
ance of wood as soon as possible : He therefore sets his trees 
very close together ^ and so they generally remain; for his pa- 
ternal fondness will seldom allow him to thin them sufficiently. 
They are consequently all drawn up together, nearly to the 
same 'height ; and, as their heads touch each other, no variety, 
no distinction of form can exist, but the whole is one enormous, 
imbroken, unvaried mass of black. Its appearance is so uni- 
formly dead and heavy, that, inst^d of those cheering ideas 
which arise from tJie fresh and luxuriant foliage,* and the light- 
er tints of deciduous trees, it has something of that dreary 
image, that extinction of form and colour, which Milton felt 
from blindness, wlien he, who had viewed objects with a 
painter's eye, as he described them with a poet's fire, was 
* Presented with an universal blank 
Of nature's works.' 

*' It must be considered also, that the eye feels an Impres- 
sion from objects analogous to that of weight, as appears from 
Ihe expression, a heavy colour, a heavy form ; hence arises the 
necessity, in all landscapes, of preserving a proper balance Oi 



* "Perhaps, in strict propriety, the term of foliage should 
never be applied to firs, as they have no leaves; and, I believe, 
it is partly to that circumstance that they owe their want of 
cheerfulness. Those among tiie lower evergreens that have 
leaves, such as holly, laurel, arbutus, are much more cheerful 
than the juniper, cypress, arbor vitas, &c. The leaves (if one 
may so call them) of the yew, have much the same character 
as some of the firs," 



» 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 59 

both ; and this is a very principal part of the art of painting*. 
If, in a picture, the one half were to be light and airy, both in 
the forms and in the tints, and the other half one black heavy 
lump, the most ignorant person would probably be displeased 
(though he might not know upon what principle) with the 
want of balance^ and of harmony ; for those harsh discordant 
effects not only act more forcibly from being brought together 
within a small compass, but also, because, in painting, they 
are not authorized by fashion, or rendered familiar by custom. 
** The inside of these plantations fully answers to the dreary 
appearance of the outside. Of all dismal scenes, it seems to 
me the most likely for a man to hang himself in : He would, 
however, find some difficulty in the execution ; for, amidst the 
endless multitude of stems, there is rarely a single side-branch 
to which a rope could be fastened. The whole wood is a 
collection of tall naked poles, with a few ragged boughs near 
the top : — above, one uniform rusty cope, seen through de- 
cayed and decaying sprays and branches ; below, the soil 
parched and blasted with the baleful droppings ; hardly a plant 
or a blade of grass ; nothing that can give an idea of life or 
vegetation. Even its gloom is without solemnity ; it is only 
dull and dismal ; and what light there is, like that of hell,^ 
** Serves only to discover scenes of wo, 
Regions of sorrow, doleful shades." 

** Get in his thrall some hapless stream that lurks, &c." 

P. 19, 1. 17. 
** It is equally probable, that many an English gentleman 
may have felt deep regret when Mr. Brown had improved some 
charming trout stream into a piece of water \, and that many a 
time afterwards, when disgusted vrith its glare and formality, 
he has been heavily plodding along its naked banks, he may 
have thought how beautifully fringed those of his little brook 
once had been ^ how it sometimes ran rapidly over the stones 
and shallows, and sometimes, in a narrower channel, stole 
silently beneath the overhanging boughs. Many rich groups 
of trees he might remember, now thinned and rounded into 
clumps ; many sequestered and shady spots, which he loved 



# 



60 NOTES ON 

when a boy, no^Kr all opened and exposed, without shade or 
variety ; and all these sacrifices made, not to his own taste, 
but to the fashion of the day, and against his natural feelings. 
" A gentleman, whose taste and feeling-, both for art and na- 
ture, rank as high as any man's, was lamenting to me the extent 
of Mr. Brown's operations : * Former improvers,' said he, ' at 
least kept near the house; but this fellow crawls like a snail 
all over the grounds, and leaves his cursed slime behind him 
wherever^he goes." Ibid. Vol. i, 373, 374. 

" Mackenzie's purpled hands."— P. 20, 1. 30. 
Sir George Mackenzie was king's advocate from the yea? 
1674 to the year 1686 ; and was of course the prime mover in 
the inquisitorial, tyrannical, and sanguinary procedure of the 
Supreme Criminal Courts, during the worst period of the per- 
secution, which Charles II, and James VII, carried on against 
religion and liberty in Scotland. 

" Whose hollow promise helped the princely hand. 

To screw confessions from expiring lips." 

P. 20, 1. 36, 37. 
When the victims of persecution were brought before the 
Privy Council, and put to the torture, James himself frequent- 
ly attended ; and promises of pardon (never intended to be 
performed) were sometimes given, with the view of extracting 
a full confession. The procedure on these occasions, and the 
share which Sir George Mackenzie had in it, may be learned 
from one instance. The infliction of the torture on the Reve- 
rend Mr. William Carstairs, is thus described in the Privy 
Council Record. 

" In the afternoon the same day, September 5 (1684), the 
Council called and interrogated Mr Carstairs, * If he would 
now answer the queries upon oath ingenuously ? He still shun- 
ned 90 to do, albeit the advocate declared, what the said Mr. 
Carstair« deponed should not militate or operate againt him 
in any manner of way ; whereunto the council assented. The 
Council called for one of the Bailies of Edinburgh t, and the 
executioner, with the engines of torture, being present, the 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 



61 



Lord Chancellor comiriandecl the Bailie to cause the execu- 
tioner to put him in the torture, by applying the thumb-screw 
to him ; which being" done, and he having", for the space of an 
hour, continued in the agony of torture, the screw being by 
space and space stretched, until he appeared near to faint ^ and 
being still obstinate and refractory to depone, the Lords 
thought fit to ease him of the torture for that time, but certi- 
fied him, that to-morrow, at nine of the clock, he would be 
tortured by the boots, if he remained obstinate." 

Mr. Carstairs's own account of the business is as follows : 
** After this communing, the king's smith was called in, to 
bring in a new instrument, to torture by the thumbkins, that had 
never been used before. For, whereas the former was only to 
screw on two pieces of iron, above and below, with finger and 
thumb, these were made to turn about the screw with the 
whole hand. 

*• And under this torture I continued near an hour and a 
half. In the mean time the torturing by the boot was tried ; 
but the hangman being newly come on (because the former 
was in prison for some crime), he had no skill, and, therefore, 
it was put off till the next day." Wot>row, Vol. ii, 389. 

To sum up the character of Sir George Mackenzie, the 
following extract, from the Records of the Privy Council, will 
suflice. 

** Decetnher 4, 1684. 

" The advocat(^ (/. e. Sir George Mackenzie) representing 
how ready Judge Jeffries was to join with the Council for 
support of the Government, it is recommended to him (Sir 
George) to signify to the Judge, the great resentments (the 
strong sentiments) tlie Council had of his kindness towards this 
kingdom, in giving concurrence against such pernicious rogues 
and villains, 'voho disturb the pu hi ic peace ; and desiring he may 
cause apprehend the persons of hiding and fugitive Scotsmen, 
and deliver them securely on the Scots border, to such as 
shall be appointed to receive them." 

" By modern history's too lenient touch." — P. 21, 1. 1. 
The picture which Hume has drawn of the times here al- 

F 2 



62 



NOTES ON 



luded to has a likeness ; but it is a profile portrait of a man 
who squints: the principle deformity cannot be discerned. 
Mr. Laing", in treating- of the tyranny which preceded the 
Revolution, has dismissed that squeamish delicacy, so often at 
variance with the frank and unaffected dig-nity of historical 
truth, and has described the royal brothers in terms of suita- 
ble reprobation. His character of the second Charles is a 
spirited painting*. I cannot, however, help thinking, that the 
principal actor in the judicial tortures and murders of that reign 
deserved a full length portrait as well as his master. 

«' The Syracusan's voice." P. 22, 1. 11. 

Archimedes discovered the exact quantity of silver, which an 
artificer had fraudulently mixed with the g-old in a crown, made 
for Hiero, king of Syracuse. He had the hint of this disco- 
very, from perceiving the water rise up the sides of the bath 
as he went into it, and was filled witli such joy, that he ran 
naked out of the bath crying, / have found it, I have found it / 

^' The moment snatch. 
That she has flitted off her charge, to cool 
Her thirsty bill, dipt in the babbling brook." 

P. 25, 1. 7, 8, 9. 
The persevering constancy of birds in their incubation is a 
most astonishing phenomenon. ** Neither (says Dr. Paley) 
ought it, under this head, to be forgotten, how much the in- 
stinct costs tlie animal which feels it ; how much a bird, for 
example, gives up, by sitting upon her nest ; how repugnant 
to her organization, her habits, and her pleasures. An animal, 
formed for liberty, submits to confinement, in the very season 
when every thing invites her abroad: What is m.ore ; an animal 
delighting in motion, made for motion, all whose motions are 
so easy and so free, hardly a moment, at other times, at r«st, 
is, for many hours of many days together, fixed to her nest, 
as close as if her limbs were tied down by pins and wires. For 
my part, I never see a bird in that situation, but I recognize 
an invisible hand, detaining the contented prisoner from her 
fields and groves, for a purpose, as the event proves, the most 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND, 63 

worthy of the sacrifice, the most important, the most benefi- 
cial." Natural Theology, 346. 

" They see, and know 
That light for them is but an implement 
Of toU." P. 30, I. 4, 5, 6. 

In this passage I do not allude to any particular manufactory. 
The practice which I condemn is a general, and, I may say, a 
national vice. In those particular works which I have had be5t 
access to know, the evil is mitigated, as much as such an evil 
can be mitigated, by the superintending intelligence and hu- 
manity of the owners. . The legislature lately interposed with 
a statute for the protection of childhood ^ but I am sorry to say 
that, in Scotland at least, the inferior judges seem to consider 
this enactment as a dead letter. 

«' Belhaven, Fletcher." P. 22, 1. 4. 

Lord Belhaven's speech, in the expiring Parliament of Scot- 
land, is a most noble monument of unsuccessful eloquence. 
The following extracts are a fair specimen of the whole. 

** But above all, I see our ancient mother Caledonia, like 
Caesar, sitting in the midst of our senate, looking mournfully 
around, covering herself with her royal garment, and breath- 
ing out her last words. And thou too, my son ! while she at- 
tends the fatal blow from our hands. Patricide is worse than 
parricide ; to offer violence to our country is worse than to our 
parents. But shall we, whose predecessors have founded and 
transmitted our monarchy and its laws entire to us, a free and 
independent kingdom, shall we be silent when our country is 
in danger, or betray what our progenitors have so dearly pur- 
chased ? The English are a great and glorious nation. Their 
armies are every where victorious ; their navy is the terror of 
Europe ; their commerce encircles the globe ; and their capi- 
tal has become the emporium of the whole earth : but we are 
obscure, poor, and despised, though once a nation of better 
account \ situate in a remote corner of the world, without al- 
liances, and without a name. What then can prevent us from 
burying our animosities, and uniting cordially together, sincQ 



62 



NOTES ON 



luded to has a likeness ; but it is a profile portrait of a man 
who squints: the principle deformity cannot be discerned. 
Mr. Laing", in treating of the tyranny which preceded the 
Revokition, has dismissed that squeamish delicacy, so often at 
variance with the frank and unaffected dig-nity of historical 
truth, and has described the royal brothers in terms of suita- 
ble reprobation. His character of the second Charles is a 
spirited painting-. I cannot, however, help thinking, that the 
principal actor in the judicial tortures and murders of that reign 
deserved a full length portrait as well as his master. 

'' The Syracusan's voice." P. 22, 1. 11. 

Archimedes discovered the exact quantity of silver, which an 
artificer had fraudulently mixed with the gold in a crown, made 
for Hiero, king of Syracuse. He had the hint of this disco- 
very, from perceiving the water rise up the sides of the bath 
as he went into it, and was filled with such joy, that he ran 
naked out of the bath crying, / have found it, I have found it / 

" The moment snatch. 
That she has flitted off her charge, to cool 
Her thirsty bill, dipt in the babbling brook." 

P. 25, 1. r, 8, 9. 
The persevering constancy of birds in their incubation is a 
most astonishing phenomenon. ** Neither (says Dr. Paley) 
oug'ht it, under this head, to be forgotten, how much the in- 
stinct costs the animal which feels it ; how much a bird, for 
example, gives up, by sitting upon her nest ; how repugnant 
to her organization, her habits, and her pleasures. An animal, 
formed for liberty, submits to confinement, in the very season 
when every thing invites her abroad: What is m.ore ; an animal 
delighting in motion, made for motion, all whose motions are 
so easy and so free, hardly a moment, at other times, at rest, 
is, for many hours of many days together, fixed to her nest, 
as close as if her limbs were tied down by pins and wires. For 
my part, I never see a bird in that situation, but I recognize 
an invisible hand, detaining the contented prisoner from her 
fields and groves, for a purpose, as the event proves, the most 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND, 63 

worthy of the sacrifice, the most important, the most benefi- 
cial." Natural Theology, 346. 

" They see, and know 
That light for them is but an implement 
Of toil." P. 30, 1. 4, 5, 6. 

In this passage I do not allude to any particular manufactory. 
The practice which I condemn is a general^ and, I may say, a 
national vice. In those particular works which I have had best 
access to know, the evil is mitigated, as much as such an evil 
can be mitig'ated, by the superintending intelligence and hu- 
manity of the owners. , The legislature lately interposed with 
a statute for the protection of childhood ^ but I am sorry to say 
that, in Scotland at least, the inferior judges seem to consider 
this enactment as a dead letter. 

«' Belhaven, Fletcher." P. 23, 1. 4. 

LordBelhaven's speech, in the expiring Parliament of Scot- 
land, is a most noble monument of unsuccessful eloquence. 
The following extracts are a fair specimen of the whole. 

<* But above all, I see our ancient mother Caledonia, like 
Caesar, sitting in the midst of our senate, looking mournfully 
around, covering herself with her royal garment, and breath- 
ing out her last words. And thou too, my son ! while she at- 
tends the fatal blow from our bands. Patricide is worse than 
parricide ; to offer violence to our country is worse than to our 
parents. But shall we, whose predecessors have founded and 
transmitted our monarchy and its laws entire to us, a free and 
independent kingdom, shall we be silent when our country is 
in danger, or betray what our progenitors have so dearly pur- 
chased ? The English are a great and glorious nation. Their 
armies are every where victorious ; their navy is the terror of 
Europe ; their commerce encircles the globe ; and their capi- 
tal has become the emporium of the whole earth : but we are 
obscure, poor, and despised, though once a nation of better 
account , situate in a remote corner of the world, without al- 
liances, and without a name. What then can prevent us from 
burying our animosities, and uniting cordially together, since 



"Ku:^ 



64 NOTES ON 

our very existence as a nation is at stake ? The enemy is aU 
ready at our gates ! Hannibal is within our gates ! Hannibal 
is at the foot of the throne, which he will soon demolish, seize 
upon these regalia, and dismiss us, never to return to this 
house again 1 Where are the Douglases, the Grahams, the 
Campbells, our peers and chieftains, who vindicated by their 
swords, from the usurpation of the English Edwj^rds, the in- 
dependence of their country, which their sons are about to 
forfeit by a single vote ? I see the English constitution remain- 
ing firm ; the same houses of Parliament ; the same taxes, 
customs, and excise ; the same trading companies, laws, and 
judicatures : whilst ours are either subjected to new re^gulati- 
ons, or annihilated for ever. And for what ? That we may be 
admitted to the honour of paying their old debts, and presenting 
a few witnesses to attest the new ones which they are pleased to 
contract / Good God! is this an entire surrender ? My heart 
bursts with indignation and grief, at the triumph which the 
English will obtain to-day, over a fierce and warlike nation, 
that has struggled to maintain its independence so long ! But 
if England should offer us our conditions, never will I consent 
to the surrender of our sovereignty ; without which, unless 
the contracting parties remain independent, there is no 
security different from his, who stipulates for the preservation 
of his property when he becomes a slave." Laing's History 
of Scotland, Vol. iv, 349—351. 

The character of Fletcher is ably drawn by the same his- 
torian. 

<* Fletcher was apparently the early pupil of Burnet ; but 
his virtues were confirmed by mature study, foreign travel, 
persecution, and exile. When he withdrew from the oppres- 
sive government of the duke of York, he engaged as a volun- 
teer in the Hungarian wars ; and, rather than desert his friend, 
embarked in Monmouth's^ unhappy expedition, of which he 
disapproved. At the Revolution, he returned with the prince 
of Orange, whose service he declined when that prince was 
advanced to the tlirone. From the study of the ancients, and 
the observation of modern governments, he had imbibed the 
principles of a genuine republican. Disgusted at William's au- 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 6S 

thority as inordinate, he considered that the prince, as the first 
and most dangerous magistrate of the state, should be severely 
restrained, not indulged in the free exercise, or abuse, of 
power. His mind was firm and independent, sincere and in- 
flexible in his friendship and resentments, impatient of con- 
tradiction, obstinate in his resolves, but unconscious of a sor- 
did motive, or an ungenerous desire. His countenance was 
stern, and his disposition unaccommodating, however affable 
to his friends ; but his word was sacred : His probity was 
never sullied by the breath of suspicion ; and equally tenacious 
of his dignity, and scrupulous in the observance of every point 
of honour, his spirit was proverbially brave as the sword he 
wore.* His schemes were often eccentric and impracticable^ 
but his genius was actuated by a sublime enthusiasm, and en- 
riched by an extensive converse with books and men. His elo- 
quence is characterised by a nervous and concise simplicity, 
always dignified, often sublime ; and his speeches in Parlia- 
ment may be classed among the best and purest specimens of 
oratory which the age produced. His free opinions were con- 
fined to no sect in religion, nor party in the state. Tlie love 
of his country was the ruling passion of his breast, and the 
uniform principle of his whole life. In a corrupt age, and 
amidst the violence of contending frictions, he appeared a rare 
example of the most upright and steady integrity, the purest 
honour, the most disinterested patriotism ; and, while the cha- 
racters of his venal, but more successful, competitors are con- 
signed to infamy or oblivion, his memory is revered and che- 
rished as the last of the Scots." Vol. iv, 296—298. 



* ** The sanae expression is used, without communication, 
by Lockhart and Mackay ; but the last is peculiarly happy in 
his character of Fletcher ; ' He is a gentlemen steady in his 
principles, of nice honour, — brave as the sword he wears, and 
bold as a lion, — would lose his life readily to serve his country, 
and would not do a base thing to save it." 



66 NOTES ON 

'* The CUSHAT plains." P. S3, 1. 15. 

Scott, in the following fine passage^ uses this word in pre- 
ference to the English one ; 

* And now, in Branksome's good green wood. 

Asunder the aged oak he stood. 

The Baron's courser pricks his ears. 

As if a distant noise he hears. 

The Dwarf waved his long lean arm on high. 

And signs to the lovers to part and fiyj 

No tinie was then to vow or sigh. 

Fair Margaret, through the hazel grove. 

Flew like the startled cushat-dove : 

The Dwarf the stirrup held, and rein^ 

Vaulted the knight on his steed amain. 

And, pondering deep that morning's scene, 

Rode eastward through the hawtliorns green.' 

Lay of the Last Ministrely canto ii, 67, 68. 

" Is laid so thinly, that the light of day 
Is through it seen." P. 33, 1. 19, 20. 

The pigeon lays only two eggs. She is, besides, a large bird, 

and possesses an uncommon degree of animal heat. How dif. 

ferently she and the wren constiuict their respective nests ! 

*< Four pointed leaves luxuriant, &c." — P. 33, 1. 34. 
The herb Paris, 

*' Amid the leafless thorn the merry wren." — P. 35, 1. 14. 
The wren ** braves our severest winters, which it contributes 
to enliven by its sprightly note. ... It continues its song till 
late in the evening, and not unfrequently during a fall of now." 
— Beilby- and Bewick. The prints, in the work here quoted, 
are the most accurate, and, at the same time, lively represen. 
tations of birds, that I ever saw. 

** And trusts her offspring to another's care." — P. o6^ 1. 4. 
* The cuckoo visits us early in the spring. Its well-known 



: .4;. 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 67 

cry is generally heard about the middle of April, and ceases 
the latter end of June ; its stay is short, the old cuckoos being 
said to quit this country early in July. Cuckoos never pair ; 
they build no nest , and, what is more extraordinary, the 
female deposits her solitary egg" in that of another bird, by 
whom it is hatched. The nest she chuses for this purpose is 
generally selected from the following, viz. the hedge-sparrow, 
the water-wagtail, the titlark, the yellow-hammer, the green 
linnet, or the whinchat. Of these it has been observed, that 
she shews a much greater partiality to the hedge-sparrow than 
to any of the rest. 

* We owe the following account of the economy of this 
singular bird, in the disposal of its egg, to the accurate observa- 
tions of Mr. Edward Jenner, communicated to the Royal So- 
ciety, and published in the 78th volume of their Transactions, 
part ii. He observes that, during the time the hedge-sparrow 
is laying her eggs, which generally takes up four or five days, 
the cuckoo contrives to deposit her egg among the rest, 
leaving the future care of it entirely to the hedge-sparrow. 
This intrusion often occasions some discomposure^ for the old 
hedge-sparrow, at intervals, whilst she is sitting, not only 
throws out some of her own eggs, but sometimes injures them 
in such a way, that they become addled; so that it frequently 
liappens that not more than two or three of the parent-bird's 
eggs are hatched with that of the cuckoo ^ and, w^hat is very 
remarkable, it has never been observed that the hedge-sparrow 
has either thrown out or injured the egg of the cuckoo. When 
the hedge-sparrow has sat her usual time, and has disengaged 
the young cuckoo and some of her own offspring from the shell, 
her own young ones, and any of her eggs that remain un- 
hatched, are soon turned out ; the young cuckoo then remains 
in full possession of the nest, and is the sole object of the future 
care of the foster parent. The young birds are not previously 
killed, nor the eggs demolished, but all are left to perish toge- 
ther, either entangled in the bush vvhich contains the nest, or 
lying on the ground under it. Mr. Jenner next proceeds to 
account for this seemingly unnatural circumstance ; and, as 
what he has advanced is the result of his own repeated obser- 



68 NOTES ON 

vations, we shall give it nearly in his own words. On the 
18th June, 1787, Mr. J. examined the nest of a hedge-spar- 
row, which then contained a cuckoo's and three hedge-spar- 
row's eggs. On inspecting it the day following, the bird had 
hatched, but the nest then contained only a young cuckoo and 
one young hedge-sparrow. The nest was placed so near the 
extremity of a hedge, that he could distinctly see what was 
going forward in it, and, to his great astonishment, he saw the 
young cuckoo, though so lately hatched, in the act of turning 
out the young hedge-sparrow. The mode of accomplishing 
this was curious : The little animal, with the assistance of its 
rump and wings, contrived to get the bird upon its back, and, 
making a lodgment for its burden, by elevating its elbows, 
clambered backwards with it up the side of the nest till it reach- 
ed the top, where, resting for a moment, it threw off its load 
with a jerk, and quite disengaged it from the nest: after 
remaining a short time in this situation, and feeling about with 
the extremities of its wings, as if to be convinced that the busi- 
ness was properly executed, it dropped into the nest again. 
Mr. J. made several experiments in different nests, by repeat- 
edly putting in an egg to th^ young cuckoo, which he always 
found to be disposed of in the same manner." — Beilby a?id 
Bewick, Vol. i, 105—107. 

" No threatening board forewarns the homeward hind." 

P. 37, 1. 18. 
* For the honour of humanity, there are minds, which re- 
quire no other motive than what passes within. And here J 
cannot resist paying a tribute to the memory of a beloved uncle, 
and recording a benevolence towards all the inhabitants around 
him, that struck me from my earliest remembrance ; and it is 
an impression I wish always to cherish. It seemed as if he had 
made his extensive walks as much for them as for himself; they 
used them as freely, and their enjoyment was his. The vil- 
lage bore as strong marks of his and of his brother's attentions 
(for in that respect they appeared to have but one mind) to the 
comforts and pleasures of its inhabitants. Such attentive kind- 
nesses are amply repaid by affectionate regard and reverence j 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 69 

and were they general throughout the kingdom, they would 
do much more towards guarding us against democratical 
opinions, 

' Than twenty thousand soldiers armed in proof.' 

* The cheerfulness of the scene I have mentioned, and all 
the-interesting circumstances attending it (so different from 
those of solitary grandeur), have convinced me, that he who 
destroys dwellings, gardens, and inclosures, for the sake of 
mere extent, and parade of property, not only extends the 
bounds of monotony, and of dreary? selfish pride, but contracts 
those of variety, amusement, and humanity. 

' I own it does surprise me that, in an age and in a country 
where the arts are so highly cultivated, one single plan (and 
that but moderate) should have been so adopted ; and that 
even the love of peculiarity s*hould not sometimes have checked 
this method of levelling all distinctions, of making all places 
alike, all equally tame and insipid. 

* Few persons have been so lucky as never to have seen or 
heard the true firoser, smiling, and distinctly uttering his flow- 
ing common-place nothings, with the same placid countenance, 
the same even-toned voice : he is the very emblem of serpen- 
tine walks, belts, and rivers, and all Mr. Brown's works. Like 
him, they are smooth, flowing, even, and distinct ; and, 
like him, they wear one's soul out.' — Price's Essay , Vol. i, 
379—382. 

" Nor be the lowly dwellings of the poor 
Thrust to a distance, as unseemly sights." 

P. 37, 1. 26, 27. 

* In all that relates to cottages, hamlets, and villages,. to 
the grouping of them, and their mixture with tress and climb- 
ing plants, tbe best instruction may be gained from the works 
of the Dutch and Flemish masters ; which perhaps afford a 
greater variety of useful hints to the generality of improvers, 
and such as might more easily be carried into practice, than 
those grander scenes w^hicli are exhibited in the lighter schools 
of painting. All the splendid effects of architecture, and of 
assemblages of magnificent buildings, whether in cities, or 

G 



70 NOTES ON 

amidst rural scenery, can only be displayed by princes, and men 
of princely revenues: but it is in the power of men of moderate 
fortunes, by means of slig-lit additions and alterations, to pro- 
duce a very essential change in the appearance of farm build- 
ing's, cottages, &c. and in the grouping* of them in villages ; 
and such effects, though less splendid than those of regular 
architecture, are not less interesting. There is, indeed, no 
scene where such a variety of forms and embellishments may 
be introduced at so small an expense, and without any thing 
fantastic or unnatural, as that of a village ; none where the 
lover of painting, and the lover of humanity, may find so many 
sources of amusement and interest.' 

' I could wish to turn the minds of improvers, from too 
much attachment to soUtary parade, towards objects more 
connected with general habitation and embellishment. Where 
a mansion-house, and a place upon a large scale, happen to be 
situated ars close to a village, as some of the naost magnificent 
seats in the kingdom are to small towns, both styles of embel- 
lishment might be adopted. Far from interfering, they would 
add to each other's effect^ and it may be truly said, that tliere 
is no way in which wealth can produce such natural unafiecte<l 
variety, and such interest, as by adorning a real village, and 
promoting the comforts and enjoyments of its inhabitants. 

' Goldsmith has most feelingly described (more, I trust, 
from the warmth of a poetical imagination and quick sensi- 
bility, than from real fact) the ravages of wealthy pride. My 
aim is to shew, that they are no less hostile to real taste, than 
to humanity ^ and should I succeed, it is possible that those, 
whom all the affecting images and pathetic touches of Gold- 
smith would not have restrained from destroying a village, rfiay 
even be induced to build one, in order to shew their taste in 
the decoration and disposition of village houses and cottages.' 

' As human vanity is very fond of new creations, it may not 
be useless to observe, that to build an entirely new village, is 
not only a more expensive undertaking than to add ^^Sm old 
one, but that it is, likewise, a much more difficult task to 
execute it witli the same naturalness and variety of disposition ; 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 71 

and that It is hardly possible to imitate those circumstances of 
long established habitation, which, at the same time that they 
sug-.^est pleasing reflections to an observing mind, are sure to 
afford deliglit to the painter's eye.' Ibid. Vol ii, 399—404. 

* There is, indeed, something despotic in the general 
system of Improvement ; all must be laid open, all that ob- 
structs levelled to the ground, — houses, orchards, gardens, 
all swept away. Painting, on the contrary, tends to humanize 
the mind. Where a despot thinks every person an Intruder 
who enters his domain, and wishes to destroy cottages, and 
pathways, and to reign alone, the lover of painting considers 
the dwellings, the inhabitants, and the marks of their inter- 
course, as ornaments to the landscape.'* Ibi4> Vol. i, 378, 379. 

<* Pleasant the path 
By sunny garden wall." P. 38, 1. 21, 22. 

* It has been justly observed, that the love of seclusion 
and safety is not less natural to man, than that of liberty : and 
our ancestors have left strong proofs of the truth of that obser- 
servation. In many old places, there are almost as many 
walled compartments without, as apartments within doors ; 
and though there is no defending the beauty of biick-waUs, 
yet still that appearance of seclusion and safety, when it can 
be so contrived as not to interfere with general beauty, is a 
point well worth obtaining ^ and no man is more ready than 
myself to allow, that the comfortable is a principle which 



* * Sir Joshua Reynolds told me, that when he and Wilson, 
the landscape painter, were looking at the view from Rich- 
mond terrace, Wilson was pointing out some particular part, 
and in order to direct his eye to it, * There,' said he, * near 
those houses , there, where the figures are.' * Though a paint- 
er,' said Sir Joshua, * I was puzzled. I though the meant 
statues, and was looking upon the tops of the Iiouses , for I 
did not at first conceive that the men and women we plainly 
saw walking about, were, by him, only thought of as figures 
in the landscape.' 



72 



NOTES ON 



should never be neglected. 0;i that account, all walled gar- 
dens and compartments near a hon!<^^ all warm, sheltered, 
sunny walks, under walls planted with fruit-tress, are greatly 
to be wished for ; and should be preserved, if possible, when 
once established.' IbitJ. Vol. ii, 145, 146. 

•' There are who doubt this migratory voyage." 

P. 40, 1. 32. 
" The migration of the swallow tribe has been noticed by 
almost every writer on the natural history of birds ; and vari- 
ous opinions have been formed respecting their disappearance, 
and the state in which they subsist during that interval. Some 
naturalists suppose that they do not leave this island at the 
end of autumn, but that they lie in a torpid state, till the be- 
ginning of sunrjmer, in the banks of rivers, in the hollows of 
decayed trees, in holes and crevices of old buildings, in sand 
banks, and the like. Some Imve even asserted that swallows 
pass the winter immersed in the waters of lakes and rivers, 
where they have been found in clusters, mouth to mouth, 
wing to wing, foot to foot, and that they retire to these places 
in autumn, and creep down the reeds to their subaqueous re- 
treats. In support of this opinion, Mr. K!ein very gravely as* 
serts, on the credit of some countrymen, that swallows some- 
times assemble in numbers, cling'ing to a reed till it breaks, 
and sinks with tliem to the bottom , that their immersion is 
preceded by a song dr dirge, which lasts more than a quarter 
of an hour ; that sometimes they lay hold on a straw with their 
bills, and plunge down in society ; and that others form a 
large mass, by clinging together by the feet, and in this man., 
ner commit themselves to the deep. It requires no great 
depth of reasoning to refute Such palpaple absurdities, or to 
shew the physical impossibility of a body, specifically lighter 
than water, employing another body lighter than itself for the 
purpose of immersion : But, admitting the possibility of this 
curious mode of immersion, it is by no means probable that 
swallows, or any other animal in a torpid state, can exist for 
any length of time in an element to which they have never 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 73 

been accustomed, and are besides totally unprovided by na- 
ture with organs suited to such a mode of subsistance, 

* The celebrated Mr. John Hunter informs us, ' That he 
had dissected many swallows, but found nothing in them 
different from other birds as to the organs of respiration j' 
and therefore concludes that it is highly absurd to suppose, 
that terrestrial animals can remain any long time under 
water without being drowned. It must not, however, be 
denied, that swallows have been sorhetimes found in a torpid 
state during the winter months ; but such instances are by no 
means common, and will not support the inference that, if 
any of them can survive the winter in tliat state, the whole 
species is preserved in the same manner.* That other birds 



* ' There are various instances on record, which bear the 
strongest marks of veracity, of swallows having been taken 
out of water, and of tlieir baring been so far recovered by 
warmth as to exhibit evident signs of life, so as even to fly 
about for a short space of time. But, whilst we admit the 
fact, we are not inclined to allow the conclusion generally 
drawn from it, viz. that swallows, at the time of their disap- 
pearance, frequently immerse themselves in seas, lakes, and 
rivers, and, at the proper season, emerge and re assume the 
ordinary functions of life and animation ; for^ it should be ob- 
served that, in those instances which have been the best 
authenticated, [See F'orster's Translation of Kalm's Tra- 
*oels into North America, 149, note.] it appears, that the 
swallows so taken up were generally found entangled amongst 
reeds and rushes, *by the sides, or in the shallowest parts, of 
the lakes or rivers where they happened to be discovered, and 
that, having been brought to life so far as to fly about, they 
all of them died in a few hours after. From the facts thus 
stated, we v/ould infer, tliat at the time of the disappearance 
of swallows, the reedy grounds by the sides or rivers and 
standing waters are generally dry, and that these birds, espe- 
cially the latter hatchings, which frequent such places for the 
sake of food, retire to tliem at the proper season, and lodge 

G 3 



74 



NOTES ON 



have been found in a torpid state, may be inferred from the 
following" curious fi\ct, whicli was communicated to us by a 
gentleman who saw the bird, and had the account from the 
person who found it. A few years ago, a young cuckoo was 
found in the tliickest part of a close furze bush ; when taken 
up, it presently discovered signs of life, but was quite destitute 
of feathers ; being kept warm, and carefully fed, it grew, and 
recovered its coat of feathers. In the spring following it made 
its escape, and in flying across the river Tyne it gave its 
usual call. We have observed a single swallow, so late as the 
latter end of October. Mr. White, in his Natural History of 
Selborne, mentions having seen a house martin flying about in 
November, long after the general migration had taken place. 
Many more instances might be given of such late appearances, 
which, added to tlie well-authenticated accounts of swallows 
having been actually found in a torpid state, leave us no room 
to deubt that such young birds as have been late hatched, and 
consequently not strong enough to undertake a long voyage to 
the coast of Africa, are left behind, and remain concealed in 
hiding places till the return of spring. On the other hand, 
tliat actual migrations of the swallow tribe do take place, has 
been well proved from a variety of well-attested facts, most of 
which have been taken from the observations of navigators, 
who were eye-witnesses of their flights, and whose ships have 
sometimes afforded a resting place to the weary travellers." — 
Beilby a?i(J Bbwick. Introduction, xv — xvii. 



themselves among the roots, or in the thickest parts of the 
rank grass w^hich grows there ; that, during their state of 
torpidity, they are liable to ])e covered with water, from the 
yains which follow, and are sometimes washed into the deeper 
parts of the lake or river, where they have been accidentally 
taken up; and that, probably, the transient signs of life, which 
they have discovered on such occasions, have given rise to a 
variety of vague and improbable accounts of their immersion, 



THE BIRDS CTF SCOTLAND. 75 

'' Behold the corn-craik: ^ she, too, wings her way 
To other lands, &c." P. 40, 1. Sq'.SY. 

* It makes its appearance about the same time as the quail, 
and frequents the same places, whence it is called, in some 
countries, ' the king of the quails.' Its well known cry is first 
heard as soon as the grass becomes long enough to shelter it, 
and continues till the grass is cut ^ but the bird is seldom seen, 
for it constantly skulks among the thickest part of the herbage, 
and runs so nimbly through it, winding and doubling in every 
direction, that it is difficult to come near it : when hard pushed 
by the dog, it sometimes stops short, and squats down, by' 
which means its too eager pursuer overshoots the spot, and 
loses the trace. It seldom springs, but when driven to extre- 
mity, and generally flies with its legs hanging down, but 
never to a great distance : As soon as it alights, it runs off, 
and, before the fowler has reached the spot, the bird is at a 
considerable distance. The corn-craik leaves this island in 
winter, and repairs to other countries in search of food, which 
consists of worms, slugs, and insects ; it likewise feeds on 
seeds of various kinds : it is very com.mpn in Ireland, and is 
seen in great numbers in the island of Anglesea, in its passage 
to that country. On its first arrival in England it is so lean as 
to weigh less than six ounces, from whence one would con- 
clude that it must have come from distant parts : before its 
departure, however, it has been known to exceed eight ounces, 
and is then very delicious eating. The female lays ten or 
twelve eggs, on a nest made of a little moss or dry grass care- 
lessly put together , they are of a pale ash colour, marked with 
rust-coloured spots. The young craiks run as soon as they 
have burst the shell, folhnving the mother; they are covered 
with a black down, and soon find the use of their legs.' 
Ibid. 312, 313. 

" Struggling she strives, 
Entangled in the thorny labyrinth. 
While easily its way the small bird winds." 

P. 42, 1. 1, 2, 3. - 

The uses of prickles on shrubs are thus enumerated by Ray, 

— * To secure them from the browsing of beasts, as also to 



76 NOTES ON 

shelter others that grow under them. Moreover, they are 
hereby rendered very useful to man, as if designed by nature 
to make both quick and dead hedges and fences," The uses 
which Pliny enumerates are, ** Ne se depascat avida quad- 
rupes, ne procaces manus rapiant, ne neglecta vestigia obte* 
rant, lie insidens ales infi'ingat :" lest the greedy quadruped 
should browse upon them, the hand wantonly seize them, the 
cai'eless footstep tread upon them, or the perching bird * 
break them. I think both these great naturalists have omitted 
one of the uses of thorny shrubs; — the protection of the small 
birds against the attacks of their stronger neighbours. 

*' What dreadful cliffs o'erhang this little stream !" 

• P. 42, 1. 17. 

The « water of Mouss' runs for about half a mile between 
Cartlane craigs. These lofty precipices are so abrupt, and 
take their rise so close to the stream, that the very channel is 
the only place from which they can be properly seen. The 
caves of Cartlane craigs are famous as the lurkhig places of 
William Wallace. 

' While that Wallace into the wood was past. 
Then Cartlane craig per sued they full fast.' 

Blind Harry. 

^* Even on that bulging verge, &c." P. 42, 1. 33. 

I have here attempted a description of the Cora Li?m. I 
think it the finest of the falls of Clyde : though the fall of Stone- 
byres is, I believe, more generally admired. 

** And, many a year, the self same tree 

The aged solitary pair frequent." P. 44, 1. 6, T. 

' In the centre of this grove there stood an oak, which, though 
shapely and tall on the whole, bulged out into a large excres- 
cence about the middle of the stem. On this a pair of ravens 



* Mas properly signifies, a large bird. 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 77 

had fixed their residence for such a series of years, that the oak 
was distinguished by the title of, " The Raven tree.'* Natit- 
ral History of Selborne, 6. 

*« Amid those plains wliere Danube darkly rolls, — 
The theatres, on which the kingly play 
Of war is oftenest acted." P. 44, 1. 12, 13, 14. 

* Milder yet thy snowy breezes 

Pjour on yonder tented shores. 
Where the Rhine's broad billow freezes, 

Or the dark brown Danube roars. 
O, winds of winter, list ye there. 

To many a deep and dying groan ! 
Or start, ye demons of the midnight air. 

At shrieks and thunders louder than your own ! 
Alas ! even your unhalk)wed breath 
May spare the victim, fallen low ; 
But man will ask no truce to death, 
No bounds to human wo." 

Campbell's Ode to Winter. 

<* On distant waves, the raven of the sea, 
The CORMORANT, devours lier carrion food. 
Along the blood-stained coast of Senegal," &c. 

P. 46, 1. 14, 15, 16. 
The Cormorant is an inhabitant of Scotland, and is accord- 
ingly ranked by Pennant, and other ornithologists, among 
British birds. Her sphere of action I have placed at a distance 
from Scotland ; and this I thought a very allowable liberty. 
The synonymous word, in some of the northern languages, is 
straiid raven, 

" Above the stern-emblazoned words, that tell 
The amount of crimes which Britain's boasted laivg 
Within the narrow wooden walls permit." 

P. 46, 1. 23, 24, 25. 
By act of Parliament, there must be painted on the stern of 
every slave ship, in large characters, such as are to be seen on 



so NOTES ON 

tiae suspensa. Hunc finem vitae habuit vir sui temporis long^e 
prsestautissimus ; in sascipiendis periculis animi magriitudine, 
in rebus gerendis fortitudine et consilio, clarissimis veterum 
ducibus facile comparandus; caritate in patriamneminisecun- 
dus: qui servientibus cseteris solus liber, neque praemiis ad- 
duci, neque metu cogi potuit, ut causam publicam semel sus- 
ceptam desereret : Cujus mors eo miserabilior est visa, quod 
kb hoste invictus, a quibus minime debuit, fuit proditus." Ibid. 

" The EAGLE OF THE SExV froHi x\tlas soars, 

Op TenerifFe's hoar peak." P. 49, 1. 6, 7. 

This bird, though I have placed her at a distance, is an in- 
habitant of Scotland. 

* This species is found in Ireland, and several parts of Great 
Britain; the specimen we took our description from was shot 
in the county of Galway. Mr. Willouc^hby tells us, there was 
an eyry of them in Whinfield park, Westmoreland; and the 
eagle soaring in the air with a cat in its talons, which Carlow 
drew^ from the very fiict which he saw in Scotland, is of this 
kind. The cat's resistance brought both animals to the 
ground; when Barlow took them up, and afterwards caused 
the event to be engraved in the thirty-sixth plate of his collec- 
tion of prints. Turner says that, in his days, it was too well 
known in England; for it made horrible destruction among the 
fish : ha adds that fishermen were fond of anointing their baits 
with the fat of this bird, imagining that it had a peculiar allur- 
ing quality: they were superstitious enough to believe that, 
whenever the sea eagle hovered over a piece of water, the fish. 
(as if charmed) would rise to the surface with their bellies up- 
waids, and in that manner present themselves to him. No 
writer since Clusius has described the sea eagle. Though no 
uncommon species, it seems at present to be but little 
known ; being generally confounded with the golden eagle., to 
which it bears some resemblance. The colours of the head, 
neck, and body, are the same wilh the latter, but much hght- 
er; the tawny part in this predominating : In size it is far supe- 
rior ; the bill is larger, moje hooked, and more arched ; un- 
derneath grow several short but strong hairs or bristles, form- 



THE BIRDS OF SCOTLAND. 81 

ing a sort of beard. This gave occasion to some writers to 
suppose it to be the aquila barbata, or bearded eagle of Pliny. 
The interior sides, and the tips of the feathers of the tail, are 
of a deep brown ; the exterior sides of some are ferruginous, 
in others blotched with white. The legs are yellow, strong, 
and thick, and feathered but little below the knees j which is 
an invariable specific difference between this and our first 
species. This nakedness of the legs is beside no small con- 
venience to a bird, who preys among the waters. The claws 
are of a deep and shining black, exceeding large and strong, 
and hooked into a perfect semicircle. 

* All writers agree that this eagle feeds principally on fish ; 
which it takes as they are swimming near the surface, by dart- 
ing itself down on them ; not by diving or swimming, as seve- 
ral authors have invented, who, furnish it for that purpose 
with one webbed foot to swim with, and another divided foot 
to take its prey. Pliny, with his usual elegance, describes 
tlie manner of its fishing: * Superest hali^etos, clarissima 
oculorum acie, librans ex alto sese, visoque in mari pispe, 
pr?eceps in eo ruens, et discussis pectore atjuis rapiens." 
Pennant, Vol. ii, X26— 128. 



«.5S« 




THE 



RURAL CALENDAR. 



JANUARY. 



Long ere the snow-veiled dawn, the bird of morn 
His wings quick claps, and sounds his cheering call : 
The cottage hinds the glimmering lantern trim, 
And to the barn wade, sinking, in the drift : 
The alternate flails bounce from the loosened sheaf. 
Pleasant these sounds ! they sleep to slumber change ; 
Pleasant to him, whom no laborious task 
Whispers, arise / — whom neither love of gain. 
Nor love of power, nor hopes, nor fears, disturb. 

Late daylight comes at last, and the strained eye 
Shrinks from the dazzling brightness of the scene, — 
One wide expanse of whiteness uniform. 
As yet no wandering footstep has defaced 
The spotless plain, save where some wounded hare, 
Wrenched from the springe, has left a blood-stained track. 
How smooth are all the fields ! sunk every fence ^ 
The furrow, here and there, heaped to a ridge. 
O'er which the sidelong plough-shaft scarcely peers. 

Cold blows the north-wind o'er the dreary waste. — 
O ye that shiver by your blazing fires, 
Think of the inmates of yon hut, half sunk 
Beneath the drift : from it no smoke ascends , 
The broken straw-filled pane excludes the light. 



84 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 

But ill excludes the blast. The Redbreast there 
For shelter seeks, but short, ah ! very short 
His stay ; no crumbs, strewn careless on the floor, 
Attract his sidelong" glance ; to warmer roofs 
He flies ; a welcome — -soon a fearless, guest. 
He cheers the winter day with summer songs. 
Short is the reign of day, tedious the night. 
The city's distant lights arrest my view. 
And magic fancy whirls me to the scene. 
There vice and folly run their giddy rounds ; 
There eager crowds are hurrying to the sight 
Of feigned distress, yet have not time to hear 
The shivering orphan's prayer. The flaring lamps 
Of gilded chariots, like the meteor eyes 
Of mighty g'iants, famed in legends old. 
Illume the snowy s^treet ; the silent wheels 
On heedless passenger steal unperceived. 
Bearing the splendid fair to flutter round. 
Amid the flowery labyrinths of the dance. 
But, hark ! the merry catch. Good social souls. 
Sing on, and drown dull care in bumpers deep ; 
The bell, snow-muflled, warns not of the hour ; 
For scarce the sentenced felon's watchful ear 
Can catch the softened knell, by which he sums 
The hours he has to live. Poor hopeless wretch ! 
His thoughts are horror, and his dreams despair: 
And ever as he, on his strawy couch. 
Turns heavily, his chains and fetters, grating;. 
Awake the inmates of some neighbouring cell. 
Who bless their lot, that debt is all their crime. 



#.. 



THE RURAL CALENDAR. 25 



FEBRUARY. 

X HE treacherous fowler, in the drifted "wreath. 
The snare conceals, and strews the husky lure. 
Tempting" the famished fowls of heaven to light : 
They light ^ the captive strives in vain to fly. 
Scattering around, with fluttering wing, the snow. 

Amid the untrod snows, oft let me roam 
Far up the lonely glen, and mark its change ; 
The frozen rill's hoarse murmur scarce is heard ; 
The rocky cleft, the fairy bourne smoothed up, 
Repeat no more my solitary voice. 

Now to the icy plain the, city swarms. 
In giddy circles, whirling variously. 
The skater fleetly thrids the mazy throng, 
While smaller wights the sliding pastime ply. 
Unhappy he, of poverty the child ! 
Who, barefoot, standing, eyes his merry mates. 
And, shivering, weeps, not for the biting cold. 
But that he cannot join the slippery sport. 

Trust not incautiously the smooth expanse ; 
For oft a treacherous thaw, ere yet perceived. 
Saps by degress the solid-seeming mass : 
At last the long-piled mountain snows dissolve, 
Bursting the roaring river's brittle 1)onds j 
The shattered fragments down the cataract shoot. 
And, sinking in the boiling deep below. 
At distance re-appear, then sweep along. 
Marking their height upon the half sunk trees. 
No more the ploughman hurls the sounding quoit ; 
The loosened glebe demands the rusted share, 
And slow the toiling team plods o'er the field. 
But oft, ere half the winding task be done. 
Returning frost again usurps the year, 

' H 2 



I 



86 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 

Fixing the ploughshare in the unfinished fur ; 
And still, at times, the flaky shower decends. 
Whitening the plain, save where the wheaten blade, 
Peering, uplifts its green and hardy head. 
As if just springing from a soil of snow. 

While yet the night is long, and drear, and chill, 
Soon as the slanting sun has sunk from view. 
The sounding anvil cheerily invites 
The weary hind to leave his twinkling fire, 
And bask himself before the furnace glare ; 
Where, blest with unbought mirth, the rustic ring. 
Their faces tinted by the yellow blaze. 
Beguile the hours, nor e^vy rooms of state. 



MARCH 



1 HE ravaged fields, waste, colourless, and bleak. 
Retreating Winter leaves, with angry frown, 
And lingering on the distant snow-streaked hills. 
Displays the motley remnants of his reign. 

With shouldered spade, the labourer to the field 
Hies, joyful that the softened glebe gives leave 
To toil ; no more his children cry for bread. 
Or, shivering, crowd around the scanty fire ; 
No more he's doomed, reluctant, to receive 
The pittance, which the rich man proudly ^ves. 
Who, when he gives, thinks heaven itself obliged. 
Vain man ! think not there's merit in the boon. 
If, quitting not one comfort, not one joy. 
The sparkling wine still circles round thy board. 
Thy hearth still blazes, and the sounding strings, 
Blent with the voice symphonious, charm thine ear. 



THE RURAL CALENDAR. 87 

The redbreast now> at morn, resumes his song, J| 

And larks, high-soaring, wing their spiral flight. 
While the light hearted plough-boy singing, blythe, 
*' The broom, the bonny broom of Cowdenknows,'' 
FiUs with delight the wandering townsman's ear y 
May be, though carolled rude in artless guise. 
Sad Floddenfield, of Scotia's lays most sweet. 
Most mournful, dims, with starting tear, his eye._ 
Nor silent are the upland leas ; cheerily 
The patridge now her tuneless call repeats. 
Or, bursting unexpected from the brake. 
Startles the milkmaid singing o'er the ridge. 
Nor silent are the chilly leafless woods ; 
The thrush's note is heard amid the grove, 
Soon as the primrose, from the withered leaves. 
Smiling, looks out. Rash floweret ! oft betrayed. 
By summer-seeming days, to venture fortli 
Thy tender form, — the killing northern blast 
Wm wrap thee lifeless in a hoar-frost shroud. 



APRIL 



Descend, sw^eet April, from yon watery bow. 

And, liberal, strew the ground with budding flowers. 

With leafless crocus, leaf-veiled violet, 

ifluricula, with powdered cup, primrose 

That loves to lurk below the hawthorn shade. 

At thy approach health re-illumes the eye : 

Even pale Consumption, from thy balmy breath, 

Inhales delusive hope , and, dreaming still 

Of length of days, basks in some sunny plat, 

And decks her half-foreboding breast with flowers, — 



&8 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 

With flowers, which else would have survived the hand 
By which they 're pulled. But they will bloom again : 
The daisy, spreading on the greensward grave. 
Fades, dies, and seems to perish, yet revives. 
Shall man for ever sleep ? Cruel the tongue. 
That, with sophistic art, snatches from pain. 
Disease, and grief, and want, that antidote. 
Which makes the wretched smile, the hopeless hope. 

Light now the western gale sweeps o'er the plain -, 
Gently it waves the rivulet's cascade ; 
Gently it parts the lock on beauty's brow. 
And lifts the tresses from the snowy neck. 
And bends the flowers, and makes the lily stoop, 
As if to kiss its image in the wave -, 
Or curls, vv^ith softest breath, the glossy pool. 
Aiding the treachery of the mimic fly : 
While, warily, behind the half-leaved bush. 
The angler screen'd, with keenest eye intent. 
Awaits the sudden rising of the trout : 
Down dips the feathery lure ; the quivering rod 
Bends low ; in vain the cheated captive strives 
To break the yielding line ? exhausted soon. 
Ashore he's drawn, and, on the mossy bank. 
Weltering, he dyes the primrose with his blood. 



MAY 



Ok blythe May morning, when the lark's first note 
Ascends, on viewless wing, veiled in the mist. 
The village maids then hie them to the woods 
To kiss the fresh dew from the daisy's brim ; 
Wandering in misty glades they lose their way. 



THE RURAL CALENDAR. 89 

And, ere aware, meet in their lovers' arms. 

Like joining" dew-drops on the blushing* rose. ; 

Sweet month ! thy locks with bursting" buds bedecked. 
With opening" hyacinths, and hawthorn blooms. 
Fair still thou art, though showers bedim thine eye ^ 
The cloud soon quits thy brow, and, mild, the sun 
Looks out with watery beam ; looks out and smiles. 

Now from the wild flower bank the little bird 
Picks the soft moss, and to the thicket flies ; 
And oft returns, and oft the work renews. 
Till all the curious fabric hangs complete : 
Alas, but ill concealed from schoolboy's eye. 
Who, heedless of the warbler's saddest plaint. 
Tears from the bush the toil of many^n hour ; 
Then, thoughtless wretch ! pursues the devious bee. 
Buzzing from flower to flower : she wings her flight. 
Far from his following eye, to walled parterres, ^ 

Where, undisturbed, she revels 'mid the beds 
Of full-blown lilies, doomed to die unculled. 
Save when the stooping fair (more beauteous flower!) 
The bosom's rival brightness half betrays. 
While chusing 'raong the gently bending stalks^ 
The snowy hand a sister blossom seems. 

More sweet to me the lily's meekened grace. 
Than gaudy hues, brilliant as summer clouds 
Around the sinking sun : to me more sweet 
Than garish day, the twilight's softened grace^ 
When deepening shades ol^cure the dusky woods ; 
Then comes the silence of the dewy hour. 
With songs of noontide birds, thrilling in fancy's ear. 
While from yon elm, with water- kissing boughs 
Along the moveless winding of the brook. 
The smooth expanse is calmness, stillness all, 
Unless the springing trout, with quick replunge, 
Arousing meditation's downward look, 
Rufile, with many a gently circling wave 
On wave, the glassy surface undulating far. 



90 



THE RURAL CALENDAR. 



JUNE. 

OHORT is the reign of night, and almost blends 

The evening twilight with the morning dawn. 

Mild hour of dawn ! thy wide-spread solitude. 

And placid stillness, soothe even misery's sigh : 

Deep the distress that cannot feel thy charm !— 

As yet the thrush roots on the bloomy spray. 

With head beneath his dew-besprinkled wing, 

When, roused by my lone tread, he lightly shakes 

His ruffling plumes, and chaunts the untaught note. 

Soon followed by the woodland choir, warbling 

Melodiously the oft-repeated song. 

Till noontide pour the torpor-shedding ray. 

Then is the hour to seek the sylvan bank 

Of lonely stream, remote from human haunt ; 

To mark the wild bee voyaging, deep-toned. 

Low weighing down each floweret's tender stalk ; 

To list the grasshopper's hoarse creaking chirp j 

And then to let excursive fancy fly 

To scenes, where roaring cannon drown the straining voice. 

And fierce gesticulation takes the place 

Of useless words. May be some Aloine brook. 

That sers'ed to part two neighbouring shepherd's flocks, 

Is now the limit of two hostile camps. 

Weak limit ! to be filled, ere evening star. 

With heaps of slain. Far down thy rocky course. 

The midnight wolf, lapping the blood-stained flood, 

Gluts his keen thirst, and oft and oft returns, 

Unsated, to the purple, tepid stream. 

But let me fly such scenes, which, even when feigned, 
Distress. To Scotia's peaceful glens I turn. 
And rest my eyes upon her waving fields. 
Where now the scythe lays low the mingled flowers. 



THE RURAL CALENDAR. 91 

Alb spare, thou pitying 9wain ! a ridge-breadth round 

The partridge nest : so shall no new-come lord. 

To ope a vista to some distant spire. 

Thy cottage raze ; but, when the toilsome day 

Is done, still shall the turf-laid seat invite 

Thy weary limbs ; there peace and health shall bless 

Thy frugal fare, served by the unhired hand. 

That seeks no wage*, save a parent's smile. 

Thus glides the eve, while round the strawy roof 

Is heard the bat's wing in the deep-hushed air, 

And from the little field the corncraik's harsh. 

Yet not unpleasing, note, the stillness breaks. 

All the night long, till day-spring wake the lark» 



JULY. 



Slow move the sultry hours. O, for the shield 
Of darkening boughs, or hollow rock grotesque ! 

The pool transparent to its pebbly bed. 
With here and there a slowly-gliding trout. 
Invites the throbbingj^alf reluctant, breast 
To plunge ; the dash re-echoes from the rocks ; 
Smoothly, in a sinuous course, the swimmer winds^ 
Now, with extended arms, rowing his way. 
And now, with sunward face, he floating lies ; 
Till, blinded by the dazzling beam, he turns ; 
Then to the bottom dives, emerging soon 
With stone, as trophy, in his waving hand : 
Blythe days of jocund youth, now almost flown ! 
Meantime, far up the windings of the stream, 
Where o'er the narrowed course the hazels meet. 
The sportive shriek, shrill, mingled with the laugh> 



I 



92 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 

The l)ushes hung with beaiit/s white attire. 
Tempt, yet forbid, the intrusive eye's approach. 

Unhappy he, who in this season pent 
Within the darksome gloom of city lane. 
Pines for the flowery path, and woody shades. 
From which the love of lucre, or of power, 
Enticed his youthful steps. In vain he turns 
The rich descriptive page of Thomson's muse. 
And strives to fancy that the lovely scenes 
Are present. So the hand of childhood tries 
To grasp the pictured bunch of fruit, or flowers. 
But, disappointed, feels the canvas smooth : 
So the naked lark^ upon a withering turf. 
Flutters from side to side, with quivering wings. 
As if in act of mounting to the skies. 

At noontide hour, from scliool, the little throng 
Rush gaily, sporting o'er the enamelled mead. 
Some strive to catch the bloom-perched butterfly. 
And, if they miss his mealy wnngs, the flower 
From which he flies the disappointment soothes. 
Others, so pale in look, in tattered garb. 
Motley with half-spun threads and cotton flakes, 
Trudge, drooping, to the many-storied pile. 
Where thousand spindles whirling stun the ear. 
Confused. There, prisoned close, they wretched moil. ^5 
Sweet ag-e, perverted from its proper end ! 
When childhood toils, the field shoiUi^De the scene, — 
To tend the sheep, or drive the herd a-field, 
Or, from the corn fields, scare the pilfering rooks, 
Or to the mowers bear the milky pail. 
But, Commerce, Manufactures, still 
Weary the ear ; health, morals, all must yield* 
To pamper the monopolising few : — 
'Twill make a wealthy but a wretched state. 
Blest be the generous band, that would restore 
To honour due the long-neglected plough ! 
From it expect peace, plenty, virtue, health: 
Compare with it, Bj'itannia, all thine isles 



THE RURAL CALENDAR. 93 

Beyond the Atlantic wave ! tliy trade ! thy ships 
Deep-fraught with blood ! 

But let me quit such themes ! and, peaceful, roam 
The winding glen, where now the wild-roee pale. 
And garish broom, strew, with their fading flowers. 
The narrow greenwood path. To me more sweet 
The greenwood path, half hid 'neath brake and brier. 
Than pebbled walk so trim ; more dear to me 
The daisied plat, before the cottage door. 
Than waveless sea of widely spreading lawn, 
'Mid which some insulated mansion towers. 
Spurning the humble dwellings from its proud domain. 



AUGUST. 



r ARE WE L, sweet summer, and thy fading flowers ? 
Farewel, sweet summer, and thy woodland songs ! 
No woodland note is heard, save where the hawk. 
High from her eyry, skims in circling flight. 
With all her clamorous young, first venturing forth 
On untried wing. At distance far, the sound 
Alarms the barn-door flock ; the fearful dam 
Calls in her brood beneath her ruffling plumes ; 
With crowding feet they stand, and frequent peep 
Through the half-opened wing. The partridge quakes 
Among the rustling corn. Ye gentle tribes. 
Think not your deadliest foe is now at hand. 
To man, bird, beast, man is the deadliest foe ; 
*Tis he who wages universal war. 
Soon as his murderous law gives leave to <^^ound 
The heathfowl, dweller on the mountain wild, 
The sportsman, anxious, watching for the dawn. 
Lies turning, while his dog, in happy dreams, 

I 



94 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 

With feeble bark anticipates the day. 
Some, ere the dawn steals o'ei* the deep blue lake. 
The hill ascend : vain is their eager ha-ste, — 
The dog's quick breath is heard panting around. 
But neither dog, nor springing game, is seen 
Amid the floating mist ; short interval 
Of respite to the trembling dewy wing. 
Ah, many a bleeding wing, ere mid-day hour. 
Shall vainly flap the purple binding heath. — 
Fatigued, at noon, the spoiler seeks the shade 
Of some lone oak, fast by the rocky stream. 
The hunter's rest, in days of other years, 
When sad the voice of Cona, in the gale, 
Lamentingly the song of Selma sung. 

How changeful, Caledonia, is thy clime ! 
Where is the sun-beam that but now so bright 
Played on the dimpling brook ? Dark o'ier the heath 
A deepening gloom is hung^ from clouds high piled 
On clouds, thc^ sudden flash glances ; the thunder 
Rolls far, reverberated 'mong the cliflTs ; 
Nor pause ; but ere the echo of one peal 
Has ceased, another, louder still, the ear appals. 
The sporting lamb hastes to its mother's side ; 
The shepherd stoops into the mountain-cave, 
At every momentary flash illumed 
Back to its iimermost recess, where gleams 
The vaulted spar , the eagle, sudden smote. 
Falls to the ground lifeless ; beneath the wave 
The sea-fowl plunges , fast the rain descends ; 
The whitened streams, from every mountain side. 
Hush to the valley, tinging far the lake. 



THE RURAL CALENDAR. ^5 



SEPTEMBER 



VTRADUAL the woods their varied tints assume ; 
The hawthorn reddens, and the rowan-tree 
Displays its ruby clusters, seeming sweet, 
Y^t harsh, disfig-uring* the fairest face. 

Ai sultry hour of noon, the reaper band 
Rest from their toil, and in the lusty stack 
Their sickles hang*. Around their simple fare, 
Upon the stubble spread, blythesome they form 
A circling" group, while humbly waits behind 
The wistful dog, and with expressive look, 
And pawing foot, implores his little share. 

The short repast, seasoned with simple mirth, 
Aod not without the song, gives place to sleep. 
With sheaf beneath his head, the rustic youth 
Enjoys sweet slumbers, while the maid he loves 
Steals to his side, and screens him from the sun. 

But not by day alone the reapers toil : 
Oft in the moon's pale ray the sickle gleams. 
And heaps the dewy sheaf, — thy changeful sky, 
Poor Scotland, warns to seize the hour serene. 

The gleaners, wandering with the morning ray. 
Spread o'er the new-reaped field. Tottering old age. 
And lisping infancy, are there, and she 
Who better days has seen. — 

No shelter now 
The covey finds ^ but, hark ! the murderous tube. 
Exultingly the deep-mouthed spaniel bears 
The fluttering victim to his master's foot : 
Perhaps another, wounded, flying far 
Eludes the eager following eye, and drops 
Among the lonely furze, to pine and die. 



96 



THE RURAL CALENDAR. 



OCTOBER. 

W ITH hound and horn, o'er moor, and hill, and dale, 
The chace sweeps on ; no obstacle they heed, 
Nor hedge, nor ditch, nor wood, nor river wide. 
The clamorous pack rush rapid down the vale. 
Whilst o'er 3^on brushwood tops, at times, are seen 
The moving branches of the victim stag : 
Soon fur beyond he stretches o'er the plain. 
O, may he safe elude the savage rout. 
And may the woods be left to peace again ! 

Hushed are the faded woods ; no bird is hea»d, 
Save where the redbreast mourns the falling leaf. 
At close of shortened day, the reaper, tired. 
With sickle on his shoulder, homeward hies : 
Night comes with threatening storm, first whispering low. 
Sighing amid the boughs ; then, by degrees. 
With violence redoubled at each pause. 
Furious it rages, scaring startled sleep. 
The river roars. Long-wished, at last, the dawn, 
Doubtful, peeps forth , the winds are hushed, and sleep 
Lights on the eyes unsullied with a tear ; 
Nor flies, but at the plough-boy's whistle blythe. 
Or hunter's horn, or sound of hedger's bill. 
Placid the sun shoots through the half-stript grove j 
The grove's sere leaves float down the dusky flood. 

The happy schoolboy, whom the swollen streams, 
Perilous to wight so small, give holiday. 
Forth roaming, now wild berries pulls, now paints. 
Artless, his rosy cheek with purple hue j 
Now wonders that tlie nest, hung in the leafless thorn. 
So full in view, escaped erewhile his search ; 
On tiptoe raised, — ah, disappointment dire ! 
His eager hand finds nought but withered leaves. 



F 



RURAL CALENDAR. 97 



Night comes again ; the cloudless canopy 
Is one bright arch, — myriads, myriads of stars. 
To him who wanders 'mo/ig the silent woods, 
Tlie twinkling orbs beam through the leafless boughs. 
Which erst excluded the meridian ray. 



NOVEMBER. 

i^ ANGUID the morning beam slants o'er the lea; 
The hoary grass, crisp, crackles 'neath the tread. 

On the haw-clustered thorns, a motly flock 
Of birds, of various plume, and various note. 
Discordant chirp ; the linnet and the thrush, 
With speckled breast, the blackbird yellow-beaked, 
The goldfinch, fieldfare, with the sparrow, pert 
And clamorous above his shivering mates. 
While, on the house-top, faint the redbreast plains. 

Where do ye lurk, ye houseless commoners, 
When bleak November's sun is overcast , 
When sweeps the blast fierce through the deepest groves, 
Driving the fallen leaves in whirling wreaths ; 
When scarce the raven keeps her bending perch, 
When dashing cataracts are backward blown ? 

A deluge pours ; loud comes the river down : 
The margin trees now insulated seem. 
As if they in the midway current grew. 
Oft let me stand upon the giddy brink. 
And chase, vnth following gaze, the whirling foam. 
Or woodland wreck : ah me ! that broken branch. 
Sweeping along, may tempt some heedless boy, 
Sent by his needy parents to the woods. 
For brushwood gleaning for their evening fire. 
To stretch too far his little arm ; he falls, 

I 2 



98 THE RURAL CALENDAR. 

He sinks. Long is he looked for, oft he's called ; 
His homeward whistle oft is fancied near: 
His playmates find him on the oozy bank. 
And, in his stiffened grasp, the fatal branch. 

Short is the day ; dreary the boisterous night : 
At intervals the moon gleams through the clouds, 
And, now and then, a star is dimly seen. 

When day-light breaks, the woodman leaves his hut, 
And oft the axe's echoing stroke is heard ; 
At last the yielding oak's loud crash resounds, 
Crushing the humble hawthorn in its fall. 
The husbandman slow plods from ridge to ridge, 
Disheartened, and rebuilds his prostrate sheaves. 



DECEMBER. 

VV HERE late the wild flower bloomed, the brown leaf lies ; 
Not even the snow-drop cheers the dreary plain : 
The famished birds forsake each leafless spray, 
And flock around the barn-yard's winnowing store. 

Season of social mirth ! of fireside joys ! 
I love thy shortened day, when, at its close, 
I'he blazing tapers, on the jovial board. 
Dispense o'er every care-forgetting face 
Their cheering light, and round the bottle glides. 
Now far be banished, from our social ring, 
The party wrangle fierce, the argument 
T>eep, learned, metaphysical, and dull. 
Oft dropt, as oft again renewed, endless : 
Rather I'd bear stories twice ten times told. 
Or vapid joke, filched fi-om Joe Miller's page, 
Or tale of ghost, hobgobhn dire, or witch j 
Nor would I, with a proud fastidious frown, 



THE RURAL CALENDAR. 99 

Proscribe the laugh-provoking pun : absurd 
Though 't be, far-fetched, and hard to be discerned, 
It serves the purpose, if it shake our sides. 
Now let the circling wine inspire the song. 
The catch, the glee j or list the melting lays 
Of Scotia's pastoral vales — they ever please. 

Loud blows the blast ; while, sheltered from its rage, 
The social circle feel their joys enhanced. 
Ah, little think they of the storm-tossed ship. 
Amid the uproar of the winds and waves. 
The waves unseen, save by the lightning's glare. 
Or cannon's flash, sad signal of distress. 
The trembling crew each moment think they feel 
The shock of sunken rock, — at last they strike : 
Borne on the blast their dying voices reach. 
Faintly, the sea-girt hamlet , help is vain : 
The morning light discloses to the view 
The mast alternate seen and hid, as sinks 
Or heaves the surge. The early village maid 
Turns pale, like clouds when o'er the moon they glide ; 
She thinks of her true love, far, far at sea ^ 
Mournful, the live long day she turns her wheel, 
And ever and anon her head she bends. 
While with the flax she dries the trickling tear. 



100 



POEMS. 



TO A REDBREAST, 



THAT FLEW IN AT MY WINDOW. 



Jb ROM snowy plains, and icy sprays. 

From moonless nig'hts, and sunless days. 

Welcome, poor bird ! I'll cherish thee ; 

I love thee, for thou trustest me. 

Thrice welcome, helpless, panting guest ! 

Fondly I'll warm thee in my breast : — 

How quick thy little heart is beating ! 

As if its brother flutterer greeting. 

Thou need'st not dread a captive's doom ; 

No ! freely flutter round my room ^ 

Perch on my lute's remaining string. 

And sweetly of sweet summer sing. 

That note, tliat summer note, I know ; 

It wakes, at once, and soothes my woe, — 

1 see those woods, I see that stream, 

I see,— ah J still prolong the dream ! 

Still, with thy song, those scenes renew. 

Though through my tears they reach my view. 

No more now, at my lonely meal. 
While thou art by, alone I'll feel ; 
For soon, devoid of all distrust, 
Thou'lt, nibbling, share my bumble crust j 
Or on my finger, pert and spruce, 
Thou'k learn to sip the sparkling juice ; 
And when (our short collation o'er) 
Some favourite volume I explore. 
Be *t work of poet or of sage, 
Safe thou shalt hop across the page. 
Unchecked, shalt flit o'er Virgil's cloves, 



POEMS. 101 



Or flutter 'mid Tibullus' loves. 
Thus, heedless of the raving* blast, 
Thou'lt dwell with me till winter's past-. 
And when the primrose tells 'tis spring", 
And when the thrush begins to sing". 
Soon as I hear the woodland song-, 
I'll set thee free to join the throng-. 



EPITAPH 

ON A BLACKBIRD, KI1.LED BY A HAWK. 

W INTER was o'er, and spring-flowers decked the glade, 

The Blackbird's note among the wild woods rung : 
Ah, short-lived note ! the songster n&w is laid 

Beneath the bush, on which so sweet he sung. 
Thy jetty plumes, by ruthless falcon rent. 

Are now all soiled among the mouldering clay; 
A primrosed turf is all thy monument. 

And, for thy dirge, the Redbreast lends his lay. 



TO ENGLAND, 



ON THE SLAVE-TRADE. 



yj F all thy foreign crimes from pole to pole, 
None moves such indignation in my soul. 
Such hate, such deep abhorrence, as thy trade 
In human beings .' 



102 POEMS. 

Thy ignorance thou dar'st to plead no more ; 
The proofs have thundered from the Afric shore. 
Behold, behold, yon rows ranged over rows. 
Of dead with dying* linked in death's last throes. 
Behold a single victim of despair. 
Dragged upon deck to gasp the ocean air ^ 
Devoid of fear, he hears the tempest rise — 
The ship descending 'tween the waves, he eyes 
With eager hope ; he thinks his woes shall end : 
Sunk in despair he sees her still ascend. 

What barbarous race are authors of his woes ? 
With freights of fetters, who the vessel stows ? 
Who manufactures thumb-screws ? who the scourge ? 
Whose navies shield the pirates o'er the surg-e ? 
Who, from the mother's arms, the clinging child 
Tears ? It is England — merciful and mild ! 
Most impious race ! who brave the watery realm 
In blood-fraught barks, with Murder at the helm ! 
Who trade in tortures, profit draw from pain. 
And even whose mercy is but love of gain ! 
Whose human cargoes carefully are packt 
By rule and square, accordvig- to the Act / 
And is that gore-drenched flag by you unfurled. 
Champions of right, knights-errant of the v/orld ? 
** Yes, yes," your Commons said, " Let such things be. 
*' -5^ OTHERS rob and murder j why not we ? 
In the smoothed speech, and in the upraised hand, 
I heaf the lash, I hear the fierce command j 
Each guilty nay ten thousand crimes decreed. 
And English mercy said. Let millions bleed ! 



POEMS. 103 



THE THANKSGIVING, 



OFF CAPE TRAFALGAR. 



U PON the high, yet gently rolling wave. 
The floating tomb now heaves above the brave ; 
Soft sighs the gale, that late tremendous roared. 
Whelming the wretched remnant of the sword. 
And now the cannon's peaceful summons calls 
The victor bands, to mount their wooden walls. 
And from the ramparts, where their comrades fell. 
The mingled strain of joy and grief to swell : 
Fast they ascend, from stem to stern they spread. 
And crowd the engines whence the lightnings sped : 
The white-robed priest his upraised hands extends, 
Hushed is each voice, attention leaning bends ; 
Then from each prow the grand hos annas rise. 
Float o'er the deep, and hover to the skies. 
Heaven fills each heart ^ yet Home will oft intrude. 
And tears of love celestial joys exclude. 
The wounded man, who hears the soaring strain. 
Lifts his pale visage, and forgets his pain ; 
While parting spirits, mingled with the lay, 
On halleluiahs wing their heavenward way. 



FINIS. 



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/acidified using the Bookkeeper process, 
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Treatment Date: March 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(724)779-2111 









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